


Can you tell me that you're ready now?

by pineappleagent1



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Monster of the Week, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:22:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23443162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineappleagent1/pseuds/pineappleagent1
Summary: “Well?” Derek asks gruffly, maybe sounding just a little bit out of breath. Stiles knows that’s got to be his imagination. Just like the look he thought Derek had just been giving him.The only time Stiles has ever seen him even break a sweat was when he was minutes from death, threatening Stiles into cutting his arm off for him.“Definitely bi.” Stiles blurts out, loud and sudden between them. His mouth running away without his permission.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 15
Kudos: 349





	Can you tell me that you're ready now?

**Author's Note:**

> This work was inspired by two bookmarks I had saved that were deleted from this site with a little razzle-dazzle of my own thrown into the mix. It always upsets me when I go through my bookmarks and find something missing and I always know what story has been deleted. I can't hope to try and replicate the writing style or the world-building I so loved in these stories but I hope at the very least I wrote some good porn.
> 
> So if some of these scenes or situations look familiar to anyone here's why. Also, I don't have a beta and I was really impatient to get this posted so if anyone sees any glaring mistakes please let me know!

“What are we waiting for?” Stiles stage whispers and Derek’s grumpy expression becomes impossibly more sour. Stiles has to refrain from laughing at how much it reminds him of the grumpy cat meme. Firstly because he doesn’t know how Derek would react to him laughing at his stupidly angry and handsome face, and secondly because he doesn’t think that Derek would appreciate the reference. 

Stiles sighs when Derek doesn’t answer and reaches out to try and figure out how to get Derek’s radio to work because this was boring as hell and they might as well listen to some tunes while they’re sitting here doing nothing.

He hisses when his hand gets smacked away and glares up at Derek who doesn’t even acknowledge it.

“We’re watching,” Derek says instead, already sounding like he’s on the verge of losing his patience. Maybe he would rather him not be there, but Stiles was the one who told him about this case in the first place so chicken shit.

“I know that, but why don’t you go in there and just-” he imitates clawing at the air and makes a little growly sound of his own because Derek totally would. He’s seen him do it.

“What? That’s like your solution for everything!” Stiles says when Derek just stares at him like he’s an idiot, “You’re a werewolf!” It’s ridiculous he still has to remind them sometimes. Especially Derek who, as far as he knows, was born a wolf.

“It’s not safe,” Derek says slowly through his teeth, “We don’t know what we’re dealing with.”

“But we’ve been waiting here for like an hour!” he complains, he could have just as easily tipped Allison’s dad off about his suspicions but he’d thought this way he’d at least get to be involved somehow.

“It’s been 30 minutes,” Derek tells him looking out at the blinking neon lights of the palm readers shop.

“What do you think is in there?” Stiles asks, reaching for the stereo again.

“It’s a palm reader,” Derek says, slapping Stiles’ hand away again. “I think there’s a palm reader in there.”

“It’s a magic shop, look at all those crystals in the window,” Stiles says, pointing out the crystals on shelves he sees displayed on the front window.

“That doesn’t make it magic.” Derek says tiredly.

“Know a lot about magic huh?” Stiles asks and Derek just shakes his head in a way that says it’s more out of exasperation than an admission. 

There’s been a number of missing persons tied to the shop, it wasn’t enough for the police station to issue a warrant but they had things at their disposal the police station simply didn’t.

He reaches out to try and mess with Derek’s radio again, because what else is there to do. He looks up when his hand doesn’t get slapped away and he isn’t reprimanded. 

Derek’s head is cocked to the side, he kinda looks like a dog perking up and he’s about to make a dog joke, ‘What is it Lassie, is Timmy stuck in the well?’ but what comes out is a yelp that sounds something like “What- Holy God!” as Derek’s arm snakes around Stiles’ waist and yanks him across the console into his lap.

“Um-” Stiles says, squirming around on top of Derek’s very strong thighs while the hand around his waist presses flat to his stomach and presses him further into Derek’s very, very solid chest. “I’m uh not gay,” he blurts out, he feels like he suddenly has to clarify this with Derek’s very solid and hot (as in temperature!) body pressed front to back against his.

“I know,” Derek says gruffly in his ear, his hot breath on the back of his neck making him feel warm and shivery all over. He twists to try and see Derek’s face so maybe he can figure out what the hell he’s thinking but Derek just turns away from him.

He frowns and shifts uncomfortably some more, “Then why-”

“Just try and look like you’re enjoying yourself,” Derek advises, his scruff scraping the shell of his ear as he speaks and Stiles flinches, just barely, goosebumps breaking out across his skin.

Stiles starts to complain that Derek’s rock-solid thighs aren’t exactly comfortable when he sees the door to the palm reader’s shop open as someone steps outside. Then Stiles drops his head onto Derek’s shoulder behind him, once he realizes what the hell is going on. “Oh my God, this is you trying to be sneaky!”

Derek says nothing while Stiles processes that to Derek being discreet means pretending to have car sex in Derek’s sexy ass Camaro. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Stiles tells him, trying not to imagine what kind of face Derek must be making, in order for it to seem like they’re having sex. And ignores the way Derek’s hands are kind of guiding Stiles to shift his hips in a certain way. Simulating sex. He’s pretty sure his brain would break from the sheer amount of cringe. 

He doesn’t bring up that, God forbid, somebody he knows catches sight of him in such a compromising position. The chances are slim but they’re not zero.

Derek hums something that could be agreement and he feels the vibration of it against his back, where he can feel the steady thrum of Derek’s heartbeat against him. 

He wonders if Derek is listening to the still too rapid beat of Stiles’ own heart. It still hasn’t calmed even though he knows they’re just /pretending/ to be having sex. He’s keyed up and ready for something to go wrong, for someone to catch them or for whatever monster that’s in there to get tired of waiting to get caught and go on a rampage.

Maybe Derek has to be paying attention or knows how to block it out because he can’t imagine what it would be like constantly having to hear the heartbeat of everyone around you. It probably gets old really fast. 

Derek’s hand slides against his stomach and he’s sure Derek doesn’t have to be paying attention to hear the way his breath hitches.

“Calm down,” Derek advises, the deep timbre of his voice somehow managing to get him to do the opposite.

“I’m calm,” Stiles chokes out, body tense and heart rabbiting in his chest. He must reek of anxiety.

Derek sighs, his hand slipping away from the hole it was burning into his shirt. Stiles lifts his head just in time to watch the stranger finish with the trash and to start locking the building up. The neon lights go out all at once, suddenly leaving them in the dark.

Stiles feels awkward crawling back into the passenger's seat once he realizes that Derek’s released him. Derek’s grumbled protests when Stiles’ knees dig into the leather are more compulsory than anything.

Derek calls it a night after that despite Stiles’ protests, “They could be coming back after they close, they could be living there!”

“Not now, Stiles.” Derek says like that’s the end of it. Stiles only lets himself be brought home because they hadn’t gone in his Jeep and arguing with Derek was like trying to talk to a brick wall.

Without a word, Derek pulls up beside the driveway to his house, not even bothering to put it in park. When Stiles doesn’t get out right away Derek silently turns to look at him, his eyebrows doing all of the talking, ‘Get out right now,’ they said.

Stiles tips his eyebrows up in return as if to say ‘why don’t you make me?’ when Derek just keeps on glaring at him Stiles turns to frown out the windshield. “So what’s the plan now?”

“The plan is for you to get out of the car and go to bed so you can go to school tomorrow morning.” Derek says slowly through his teeth.

“You can’t leave me in the dark. You only know about this case because I told you about it,” Stiles protests.

“Yeah, you came to me and now I’m going to look into it.” Derek fires back, turning to look at him for emphasis. “Go to bed, Stiles.” Derek says, leaving no room for argument.

He’ll have to take matters into his own hands then, break-in, maybe with Scott. It would just take some needling. And Stiles was good at needling.

He huffs, opening the car door grumbling all sorts of insults under his breath before stepping out onto the pavement. He slams the door with a little more force than necessary then smirks down at Derek through the passenger's window.

Derek glares out at him for a moment more before speeding off down the street, his tires squealing. Asshole.

He gets Scott to meet him the next night at his house. Scott seems pretty wary considering that he’s in fact an actual real-life werewolf.

“It’s gonna be fine, Scott. You basically have superpowers.” he reasons with him. And it’s not like it’s the first time they’ve gone off to investigate like this, they totally have this in the bag!

“Yeah but- why don’t you just tell Derek?” Scott asks, frowning at Stiles like he still doesn’t understand.

“I told you I already tried Derek. He was a total dick about it,” Stiles says, unlocking his Jeep before hopping into the driver's seat. “I don’t even think he believes me.” He looks at Scott through the passenger window expectantly.

“What about the Argents?” Scott seems hesitant to even say it, Stiles just shakes his head and leans across the console, stretching his fingers out till he reaches the door handle. He pushes in with his thumb and pulls on the handle till the door pops open and Stiles pushes insistently with his knuckles until the door swings open a couple of inches.

Scott sighs and opens it the rest of the way and Stiles grins, “Attaboy,” before pulling himself upright, his spine complaining at the awkward position he’d just put it in.

“The Argent’s wouldn’t let me get involved, dude. I wanna help.” he says as Scott hops in, closing the door behind him.

He’s just putting the key in the ignition when Scott reaches over and pulls the key out. Stiles turns to look at him and spreads his fingers outwardly in a gesture that says, ‘What the fuck?’

“Maybe it’s a good thing if we let someone else get involved instead of us.” Scott says, and Stiles lunges for the keys. Scott pulls them out of his reach. He struggles to grab them out of his hand but Scott slips them behind his back and levels him with a glare.

Stiles leans back and sighs, rubbing a knuckle into his forehead. How is Scott of all people lecturing him about this? “When have you ever minded your own business or left things alone?”

Scott shrugs, looking down at his shoes. “I don’t know, sometimes I feel like we should leave it for them to take care of and try and be normal teenagers,” but he sounds uncertain and Stiles knows he has him, where there was trouble Scott couldn’t help but want to be involved. It’s like he’s a hero or some shit.

“That’s horse shit and you know it. C'mon, you thrive off this stuff.” Stiles reminds him, laying his head back against the headrest and grinning over at Scott.

Scott shakes his head but he’s smiling too. Stiles holds his hand out for the keys, wriggling his fingers expectantly.

Scott sighs but drops the keys in Stiles’ empty hand, “Wise choice, Scotty!” Stiles says, starting his car and the music comes on at an ungodly volume. Scott turns it down, complaining just as loudly as Stiles peels out into the street.

The shop’s still open when they pull up to it, Stiles finds a parking spot and pulls out his phone to check the time. 7:12pm.

“They should be closed by now,” Stiles says confused. “They closed at 6 yesterday.”

“Maybe they close earlier on the weekend,” Scott suggests. Stiles shrugs, it’s possible. Now is as good a time as any to check out the shop while it’s still open, then he can break back in later and find anything they might be hiding.

“What?” Stiles says when they approach the building and he crosses over the sidewalk while Scott stops dead in his tracks.

“Dude, what?” He asks again when Scott doesn’t answer.

“Mountain ash,” Scott says and that confirms it, something was definitely going on here.

Stiles contemplates, looking towards the neon shop sign, ‘Fortune Teller’ they advertise. ‘Palm and Tarot Reader’ with little symbols of stars and cards flashing around the words and a red hand blinking in the middle, “Alright, well I guess you’ll just wait here, be my backup.”

Scott stares at him like he’s an idiot, “What?”

“Stiles that makes no sense!” Scott protests and reaches to try and pull Stiles away from the door but his hand stops short at the barrier. “There could be something like me in there and you’re going in alone!?”

Stiles waves him off, “I’ll be fine, I’m fast,“ he says, pulling up his hood, “Besides they’re warding off things /like/ you, there’s probably just people in there.”

“You don’t know that! People are going missing and what if it’s faster? Stiles-” Scott says as Stiles starts for the door.

“Shush!” he turns to wave his arms at Scott to get him to shut up, “Just shush! Shut up!”

The dusty door has a sign on it when he reaches it, ‘Pull’ it tells him. He doesn’t see their hours posted anywhere though. “Stiles-” Scott tries again and he ignores him and pulls open the heavy door to slip inside.

The shop is bigger than he thought it would be upon entry. In the front, there’s a wide desk made of reclaimed wood, the top covered in old gaudy lamps in all sorts of styles and colors. 

The shop branches off in two directions with the desk in the middle, up to the left there’s a couple of stairs that lead to a small library that twists off in odd, disorienting directions. To the right there are glass shelves with colorful crystals lined up end to end with lights shining up onto them, scattering the refracting lights onto the ceiling and walls.

Behind the desk is a tall Latina woman armed with bright, baggy skater clothes and neon blue lipstick. Her hair is pulled into sectioned off braids that come together to make a high ponytail, her eyebrows are artfully shaped, one having two piercings going through it. She eyes him curiously as he slowly approaches the big desk.

Behind the woman there’s a wall of small, square drawers labeled with words like ‘sage’ ‘dill’ and ‘lavender’. “Hi,” he says, waving a little awkwardly. On the desk he notices a display with four stacks of business cards to choose from, he picks up the one the color of lavender with hot pink lettering designed to look like graffiti ‘Anna LeBlanc’ it reads.

“This one yours?” he asks, flipping it around to show her.

She smiles at him, a dimple folding in her right cheek. “You guessed it,” she tells him, an ambiguous accent clinging to her vowels as she speaks.

“Had a feeling,” he says, flashing her a smile.

“Your friend,” she starts then looks around conspiratorially before leaning in. Stiles leans in too, propping his hands on the desk to better hear her. “he could not come in because he’s a wolf, yeah?”

Stiles blinks at her. “Oh uh, pretty sure he was born in the year of the dog,” he says, leaning back out of her space. “But he has allergies and this place seemed pretty dusty. So- you know.” He even wipes a finger over the shelf next to him and holds up his now dusty finger for emphasis. 

Despite Stiles’ incredible improv skills she doesn’t seem too convinced. She straightens up as well. “Would you like to have your future told, or your palms read or just have a look around? This store has a lot to offer. Books for spells, or rituals. Crystals for energy, healing or relaxation…”

“I think I’ll just have a look around, thanks.” He tells her, ducking his head awkwardly.

“Antiques are in the back. Let me know if there’s anything I can help you with,” she says, her nails catching the light as she waves him off.

“Thank you.” He says before heading to the left towards the bookshelves, nearly tripping up the two steps it takes to the next level. He glances back at Anna to make sure she hadn’t noticed but she already seems pretty preoccupied with whatever paperwork she’s pouring over.

The floor is padded with mismatched carpets lining the spaces between the shelves and muffling the way the floor creaks with each step. He scans the spines of the books he passes. Nothing stands out in particular to him. The books range from brightly colored astrology books to dusty old spellbooks with brown, worn paper.

They’re sectioned off by category and signs stick out advertising what he can find in each new section. ‘Bargain Books’ they say, ‘Everyday Magic’ and ‘Vegan Cookbooks’.

Stiles finds an astrology book to flip through because he likes the pictures, realizes that he’s wasting time and sneezes when he closes it with a clap. They could really afford to do some dusting.

“Find anything interesting?” asks a voice, Stiles jumps and spins to find a man standing behind him.

He’s tall and lean, somewhere in his mid to late forties. Gold wire rims sitting high on his nose and he peers at Stiles, leaning in a little too close. Stiles recognizes him as the person who closed the shop last night.

“Just- just looking.” He says, nearly dropping the book he’d just been flipping through.

“Been to the back of the shop yet?” he asks, tilting his chin towards a doorway at the far end of the library.

Stiles shakes his head.

“All the interesting stuff is back there.” He says knowingly, flashing his spindly eyebrows at him.

“Yeah?” Stiles asks, casting his eyes towards the shadowy entryway.

The man reaches out and slips the book out from between Stiles’ hands before reshelving it next to Stiles’ head. He leans away and frowns at him, what if he’d wanted to buy that?

“Be careful what you touch though, there’s some nasty stuff hanging on to those old relics.” The man says tapping the side of his own nose.

“Okay,” Stiles says, stepping back and away from the man. He just smiles at Stiles before turning and disappearing further into the shelves. Creepy bastard.

Stiles is still looking behind him as he passes the threshold into the back of the shop. He runs smack dab into an old rocking chair, it creaks loudly in protest while Stiles swears at it. 

He puts out a hand to still the rocking chair he’d run into and clutches his throbbing shin with the other, trying to breathe through the pain. Thank God no one was there to actually witness it. That was going to bruise like hell later. 

Still recovering from the minor but still painful accident, Stiles looks around the dimly lit room he’s found himself in.

Taxidermy sits on the walls, covered in cobwebs like they haven’t been dusted in years. There are jars hanging from the ceiling, the liquid inside them too cloudy to know what the contents are. 

The far wall is covered in nothing but mirrors that look like they haven’t been washed in over a decade. The biggest one front and center adorned with a brass frame artistically shaped into leaves and vines.

It reminds him of the scene out of Chamber of Secrets when Harry accidentally ends up in a creepy shop on the wrong side of town. Until he notices a sign hanging on the wall, ‘Gone fishing, catch you later’ it says with the image of a fish printed onto it. And another one ‘If I’m not fishing I’m thinking about it!’ surrounded by poles and hooks. So maybe it’s equal parts dorky and spooky.

Other than that it’s mostly a regular antique shop with a line of tall lamps going through the middle of it, lighting up the room. If he looks more closely he sees old dolls, statues, paintings and jewelry hung up in cases or sitting loosely on the various items of furniture. 

Even the chair he’d just run into has an old washed-out looking quilt hung over the back of it and a Kermit the Frog doll sits in it innocently with its arms crossed over its lap.

“Hello there, dearie!” comes a cracked voice, as old and dry sounding as the Sahara. Stiles yelps and spins around to find a little old woman standing behind him.

“Oh my God, hi,” Stiles says, breathing with relief when he realizes that she’s just some harmless old lady. 

She stares up at Stiles with big, dark eyes, definitely judging him. “Sorry,” he apologizes.

“First time in the store?” she asks, coming forward. Stiles nods and steps to the side to let her past him into the room.

“See anything you like?” she asks, spreading her arms wide to gesture around the shop.

“Uh,” Stiles’ eyes scan the room and over the old woman’s shoulder he catches sight of a dusty Nintendo 64 sitting on a rickety old bookshelf. “Does that still work?” he asks, nodding towards it.

She turns to look behind her to see what Stiles is talking about, her mouth curving into a frown. “Yes, I had Pablo, our electronics man take a look at it.”

“How much is it?” Stiles asks, jumping on the opportunity. He’s been meaning to get into some older video games.

“Well how much would you give me for it?” she asks, facing him again and propping her hands on her hips.

“Oh,” Stiles pulls out his wallet to see what cash he’s carrying, “forty-five dollars?”

She nods and walks back towards the bookshelf, reaching up on her tiptoes and pulling the console down before Stiles has a chance to offer his help. She leads him to what looks like a bar-style table in the corner of the room and slips behind it to stand next to an ancient-looking cash machine.

“Here,” she says, handing him a little wooden carving of man carefully, Stiles accepts it by reflex. “Gift with purchase,” she says by way of explanation before she starts tapping away at the register.

“Thanks, er can I bring this back just in case it doesn’t work?” Stiles asks, cradling the carving with one hand while he pulls out his cash with the other.

She shrugs, “I’ll print you a receipt.”  


His phone rings as he’s passing through the crystal section on his way out the store. “Hey Scotty,”

“Get out here. Now.”

“Derek,” Stiles says warmly, taking a second to frown down at the caller I.D. It’s definitely Scott’s phone. “What a nice surprise.”

“I can’t believe you could be so reckless Stiles do you even-” Derek’s saying, sounding like he’s getting ready for a long lecture. Stiles sighs and cuts him off.

“Relax, dude I’m already on my way out,” Stiles says, catching sight of Anna who waves goodbye to him when he sends her a wink over his shoulder.

Hands grasp him by the collar of his hoodie the instant he crosses the barrier and start dragging him towards the parking lot.

Derek simply huffs at Stiles’ protests and attempts to pry his hands off of him, otherwise ignoring them completely. Derek shoves him against the side of his Jeep when they reach it and leans back to cross his arms over his chest and to /glare/ at him. Stiles glares right back.

“I can’t believe you,” Derek says, speaking up first for once. He looks angry and disappointed all at once in the way only his father is allowed to look at him.

“You’re blowing this /way/ out of proportion, Derek.” Stiles says, crossing his arms right back at him. “I was just having a quick look around.”

“I thought we agreed I was going to handle it,” Derek says angrily, Stiles catches sight of Scott poking his head over Derek’s shoulder looking concerned but otherwise remaining unhelpfully mute.

“We didn’t /agree/ to anything. And by the way did you know about the mountain ash? How were you gonna handle /that/?” Stiles asks, straightening up enough to get in Derek’s face.

“Stiles-” Scott finally says, inserting an arm between the two of them like that was gonna do anything. Stiles ignores him.

“No, I’m curious, Derek. How were you planning on getting past the mountain ash?” he asks poking Derek in the chest just to drive the point home.

Derek’s eyes flash red and he pushes Stiles' hand away, “Now you’ll never know because like always you couldn’t help yourself, you couldn’t just /trust/ me to take care of it.”

“Like you couldn’t trust me to help you?” Stiles asks, throwing his arms up. He’s met with silence as Derek continues to glare at him.

“Alright- alright just everybody calm down, this is getting us nowhere!” Scott says, actually stepping between them. Stiles sighs and leans back against the Jeep.

“Fine.” he concedes.

“So the building is surrounded by mountain ash, which officially makes it our problem. Agreed?”

Derek just grunts while Stiles nods.

“What’s this?” Derek asks, leaning down picking up the carving from the ground. It must have fallen out of his jacket when Derek shoved him.

“Gift with purchase,” Stiles says, reaching out and taking it back from him.

They both stare at him.

“I uh- bought something.” he says, holding up the brown paper bag the old woman had put it in. “You know to avoid suspicion. Oh and I totally called it by the way it was for sure a magic shop. They even had spell books.”

Derek rolls his eyes, “And Mountain Ash surrounding the whole building.”

“You bought something from that creepy shop?” Scott asks, pushing past Derek to try and see into the bag. “How could you buy something from them?

“I couldn’t just walk around and leave without buying something, that’d be suspicious,” Stiles says, chewing his lip. Truthfully, he probably wouldn’t have gotten anything at all if it weren’t there.

“It’s a weird shop, I bet people do that all the time.” Scott tells him.

Stiles pulls out the Nintendo 64 and Scott eyes it warily. “How much did you pay for it?”

“Forty bucks,” Stiles shrugs.

“That’s not bad,” Scott says while Derek just frowns at it.

“How do you even know it works?” Derek asks.

“If it doesn’t Danny will help me fix it.” Stiles says, slipping it back into the paper bag. “You remember Danny, don’t you Miguel?”

Derek’s lip curls.

“Well did you learn anything at least?” Scott asks, nudging him in the arm.

“Front desk girl was a real cutie and she totally knows about werewolves, she straight up asked me if you were one.” Stiles tells Scott and prods him in the shoulder for emphasis.

Derek’s frown deepens at that and he glances back towards the shop.

“Oh my God, dude what did you say?” Scott asks, understandably concerned by the fact a total stranger knows he’s a werewolf.

“I played dumb, pretended not to know what she was talking about.” Stiles says, “Told her you couldn’t come in cause you had allergies. I got your back, buddy.” he says, clapping Scott on the shoulder.

“We should get out of here,” Derek says distractedly, “you two have school tomorrow.”

It’s not even eight yet, but Stiles sees his point. They shouldn’t be hanging around a magic shop where they know about the existence of werewolves and seem to be disappearing people for fun. Scott and Stiles get into the Jeep while Derek watches them, leaning against his Camero, probably to make sure they don’t come back again.

“So how come you called Derek?” Stiles asks Scott once they’re on the road and he’s driving Scott home.

“I didn’t know what else to do, and you were in there a long time.” Scott says uncertainty.

“I wasn’t even in there 30 minutes and why Derek, he can’t get past the barrier either.” Stiles teases him, “Why not your creepy boss, the vet? He’d probably know better what to make of this place than any of us.”

“I’ll mention it to Deaton tomorrow at work, maybe he knows something about it.”

“He probably shops there.” Stiles guesses. Dude’s gotta get his magic shit somewhere.

There’s someone standing in Scott’s front lawn when Stiles pulls up. He frowns over at Scott but he seems unconcerned so Stiles cuts the engine.

It’s Allison, he realizes when she comes up to the Jeep and Scott opens the door in lue of cranking the window down.

“Did you just get here?” Scott asks

“No, I was just about to leave. Isaac has a paper due in History and he needed my notes.” Allison answers, swaying shyly.

Scott doesn’t seem nearly as put out by this as Stiles expects him to be. Just keeps on smiling that dopey smile he has reserved for Allison and nods in understanding.

“Hey, Stiles,” she greets him, looking past Scott and smiling warmly.

Stiles raises a hand in greeting, feeling a little awkward. “Hey, Allison. Nice night.”

She nods, her lips pursed together and she sways like she’s getting ready to leave. “I should probably get going.”

“Here I’ll walk you to your car,” Scott’s saying and Allison moves back from the door so Scott can open it the rest of the way. Neither of them mention that her car is just a yard or two away from where Stiles has parked.

“I’ll see you tomorrow Stiles,” Scott tells him once he’s out of his seat and onto the pavement.

“See you later, buddy.” Stiles says fondly as Scott closes the door. He starts up the engine and watches them walk to her car in his rearview window before heading home.

He doesn’t see Derek again until a week or so later. He’s dumping his backpack inside his room when he just kind of senses something watching him. Warily he flips on the lights. 

“Holy-” he says, jumping back and bringing his hand up to his chest like a fucking damsel in distress while Derek stares at him from where he’s sitting on top on Stiles’ bed, his eyebrows doing the judgy thing.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asks, stupidly and embarrassingly out of breath. He thinks about throwing one of his textbooks at Derek to prove a point. Don’t sneak up on Stiles!

“I need you to research something for me,” 

“Yeah?” he asks and helpfully gestures for him to sit in the chair he has available over by his dresser. Derek ignores him, staying sat in the same spot Stiles wakes up and rolls over to jerk off first thing in the morning. Derek’s nostrils flare like he can smell it. 

Stiles clears his throat and collapses onto his rolly chair and flips open his laptop. It opens to a new tab and he discreetly closes the other tabs he has open to porn and prays Derek can’t read the titles from where he’s sitting on Stiles’ bed. 

“That’s unfortunate cause I have homework I have to get done.” He really does, not that he’s going to get a chance to do it now.

“Do that with one hand do you?” Derek asks and Stiles’ eyes widen when he realizes Derek is one; making a joke and two; he could in fact read the titles of the tabs he had open.

“Of course,” Stiles says, trying to keep his voice level, nonchalant. He’s not embarrassed, not at all. “No one else is gonna do it.” 

When Derek doesn’t answer Stiles spins to face him and Derek’s looking down at his hands contemplatively.

“I put my hand in something.” Derek says after a painfully awkward silence.

“That’s really helpful Derek, I’ll get right on that.” Stiles says, leaning back in his chair to stretch his legs out, his feet rest barely an inch away from Derek’s. More silence. 

Derek still doesn’t elaborate. So he prods at one of Derek’s calves with a socked toe trying to speed along whatever Derek’s going to say. Or maybe irritate him into forgoing it all together and leaving Stiles to do his homework in peace.

Derek looks up at him and seems to be in physical pain restraining himself from throttling Stiles. “It has a certain taste,”

Stiles sighs at Derek’s general inability to get to the point and gets to his feet to come stand in front of Derek, looking down at said hand. It looks a little dirty, like Derek had been running through the woods when he stuck his hand in the mystery substance. “And what does this have to do with the magic shop killer? How’s that going by the way?”

He looks over at the crime board in the corner of his room, the red strings and the missing person's pictures he’d been collecting all converging on a picture of the magic shop. Stiles definitely has his own suspect list, starting with the weird dude in the bookshelves.

“It doesn’t… this is personal.”

“Personal…” Stiles hedges, ripping his eyes from the board. To his knowledge, Derek didn’t /do/ personal, not when he could help it.

Derek looks up at him, his mouth curved in his perpetual frown, his eyes sharp in warning. “It reminds me of something my mother used to use. It isn’t wolfsbane and it isn’t poison.” Stiles doesn’t think he’s heard him speak so much at one time, “I need you to find out what it is,” Derek says pro-offering the offending hand. Something occurs to him.

“You want me to put that in my mouth?” Stiles says incredulously, and maybe a little too loudly, gesturing towards Derek’s dirty ass looking hand. “No!” 

Then Derek snarls and grabs him by his hoodie and tugs him down to his level. He holds out his hand like an offering. Up close it smells like Earth and dirt and Stiles breath is suddenly shaky and loud between them.

He doesn’t know if it’s fear or something else that has his heart rabbiting against his chest this time.

“Taste it,” Derek says, no demands, and Stiles opens his mouth to protest, ‘Hell no!’ but then Dereks’ fingers are slipping into his open mouth. Stiles stares wide-eyed at Derek, shocked by the audacity, the nerve! Who does he think he is? 

Loud and sudden there’s knocking on his bedroom door pulling Stiles out of his stupor.

“Stiles?” Comes a voice from outside his door, he distantly recognizes it as his Dad’s. Derek’s fingers slip from his mouth and when he pulls away he lets him go. Stiles spins to face his thankfully closed door.

“Y-yeah dad?” Stiles calls, a little hoarsely when he finds his voice again.

“Stiles, are you- are you alone in there?” Stiles doesn’t think his Dad would much appreciate an ex-murder suspect in his underaged son’s bedroom behind closed doors. Even though it might be pretty funny to see his Dad putting Derek in handcuffs. Again.

“Yeah, Dad I’m always- listen do we need to have another talk about a teenage boy’s right to privacy?” he asks, hoping to embarrass him into going away.

“Do we need to have another talk about the volume on your computer?” is his dad’s instant response. He hears a soft noise of amusement from behind him. God Derek does not need to hear this.

“No- nope!” Stiles rushes to answer, he’d underestimated his dad’s willingness to /go there/. He never wants to have that talk ever again. “I’m turning it down right now!”

“You know Stiles, you can talk to me about anything right?” comes his father’s soft, understanding voice.

“Yeah, Dad.” he says after a long pause.

“Alright,” the sheriff says and departs with a knock.

Stiles sighs in relief and turns to face Derek who he’s half expecting to be gone, but he’s just standing up now, looking incredibly amused.

“Hey, no judgment!” Stiles says, fighting the urge to fidget under Derek’s gaze, “I like a full sensory experience and for me that includes a wall of sound.”

“You, loud? That doesn’t surprise me.” Derek says, stepping closer. Stiles steps back until his back hits something solid and there’s nowhere else for him to go. Is Derek flirting?? Or equally unlikely, joking again? 

He was absolutely certain until very recently that Derek had no sense of humor. Not that he really blames the guy, if the majority of all the people he loved and cared about all went up in flames and he was partially to blame for that he’s sure he’d be a real stick in the mud too.

“My dad thinks I’m gay or bi, or experimenting or something.” He thought he was watching gay porn to be exact. And he could see how it could be misconstrued into something raunchy. But no it was just Derek being his usual asshole self making demands and when that doesn’t work he’ll be looming aggressively either until the end of time or Stiles gives in.

“Experimenting,” Derek rumbles, like the word disappoints him. Which can’t be right, Derek doesn’t /care/ about Stiles’ sexuality. He’d probably rather discuss Kate Argent’s past transgressions than hear anything about that type of stuff that gets Stiles going.

“Well, /maybe/-” Stiles starts brazenly, suddenly feeling the need to like, defend his honor or something. But then they’re chest to chest and two of Derek’s fingers are pressed against his lips. Stiles tilts his head back and stares into Derek’s weirdly pretty eyes. He breathes a long exhale and after a brief standoff Stiles relents, lets his mouth drop open. Derek’s fingers ease in and hook gently into his mouth. 

Beneath the taste of dirt and salt there’s something else so he just goes with it and sucks on Derek’s fingers. Derek’s surprisingly colorful eyes widen slightly and then he’s leaning in and Stiles stops breathing. 

He has the sudden, embarrassing realization that he’s hard for this, not all the way exactly. Hopefully not enough for Derek to notice but enough for him to worry about it. And the situation isn’t exactly improving with Derek looming over him and pressing him into his bedroom door like that. 

He didn’t even know he liked that kind of thing, but while sucking on Derek’s fingers he’s suddenly noticing things like Derek’s stupidly chiseled jaw and stubble, his perfect teeth, how solid Derek is and how his eyes peer almost invasively into his. 

Despite his internal decision to /not/ go there right now, Stiles/ possibilities are going through his head. For example what else he could be doing with his mouth right now. 

He could be good at it, he’s seen people looking at his mouth sometimes, he bets he’d be good at it. He imagines what noises Derek would make and how roughly he might handle him and what he could do to him in turn. 

Derek’s nostrils flare like he can smell it, stares like he can hear what he’s thinking. And Stiles is coming out of this without his dignity. Beacause Derek Hale’s fingers are in his fucking mouth and that simple fact is enough for him to get hard. And he’s struck with the sudden realization that, holy cow, this whole situation is really gay. 

Which means Stiles is gay.

Derek falters, where he was just a second ago looking at Stiles all dark with intent he now looks uncertain, and pulls his hand free too soon. Stiles feels his teeth scraping Derek’s skin on the way out. 

Derek steps back and Stiles follows half a step like they’re magnetized before he catches himself and stands there in the middle of his room with sweaty palms and a half hard dick.

“Well?” Derek asks gruffly, maybe sounding just a little bit out of breath. Stiles knows that’s got to be his imagination. Just like the look he thought Derek had just been giving him. 

The only time Stiles has ever seen him even break a sweat was when he was minutes from death, threatening Stiles into cutting his arm off for him.

“Definitely bi.” Stiles blurts out, loud and sudden between them. His mouth running away without his permission.

“How did it /taste/?” Derek asks again, clearly frustrated.

There’s a bang outside his wall, “Stiles!” his Dad yells and Stiles turns to face the source of the sound.

“Sorry Dad!” he yells to his Dad who probably passed by in the hallway at the exact wrong time. 

When he turns around again his window is open and Derek’s gone.

“Can I tell you something without having to face any kind of judgment from you?” Stiles asks Scott over a session of Call of Duty. They’re playing split-screen in his bedroom and he strongly suspects Scott is using it as a way to cheat.

His toes dig into the soft carpet of his bedroom floor anxiously. He’s been planning on telling Scott about his and Derek’s weird gay freak out thing.

“You already told me you bought something from that creepy ass magic shop,” Stiles laughs, and yeah maybe that was kind of dumb. “Did you ever get the 64 to work by the way?” Scott asks.

“Yeah it seems to work fine,” Stiles shrugs, he’s already halfway through Majora’s Mask. Other than having been in need of some serious dusting it was in perfect working condition.

“What about that creepy doll they gave you?” Stiles thinks back to the last time he saw it. He’s having a little difficulty remembering.

“Carving,” he corrects him, “It was a wood carving and I think I lost it,” he says when he comes up blank.

“Good,” Scott tells him and Stiles can’t help but echo the sentiment. It was pretty creepy.

“No but c'mon seriously,” Stiles says, trying to jump back on topic. This was like, important or something. Derek’s kind of their leader and Scott needs to know why things are weird between them.

Not that Derek seemed to be freaking out more than usual, but that’s alright Stiles is doing enough freaking out for the both of them. 

Objectively, Derek is hot. And it’s not really weird for Stiles to maybe kind have a thing for him, and he was basically turned on all the time. This was pretty much business as usual for Stiles.

Except where Stiles wanted to like, have Derek all up in his grill. Which until pretty recently used to terrify him.

“I don’t know, can I expect the same from you?” Scott asks suspiciously, which- fair.

“Scott, buddy, I stuck by you when you were turning into a werewolf and trying to murder me whenever your stupid little wolf brain instincts started kicking in. And when you decided to date a girl who came from a family of werewolf hunters.” he says these things, ticking off a finger with each listed transgression.

“I’m sensing some judgment right now,” Scott says, turning to cock an eyebrow in that special, endearing way he does, his voice wry with amusement. 

“Okay, whatever that’s in the past- stop looking at my screen!” he complains when Scott rounds a corner and instantly shoots his character down.

“It’s the same screen.” Scott reminds him, dimples folding in his cheeks.

“Oh my ughh-” Stiles’ original goal of opening up to his best friend about his newfound sexuality tabled for later. He’s going to annihilate him.

“So there was something you wanted to tell me?” Scott asks later, once their round is over. Scott won. Barely.

“Nah- just forget it,” he says, maybe chickening out a little. He decides he doesn’t have to tell him just now. He has time.

“You sure?” Scott asks gently, leaning in to make Stiles make eye contact with him. Scott has been making more of an effort to be there for him and Stiles really appreciates it. But not now.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, smiling and waves the question away to start another round.

He wins the next round. And the next one. Scott wins the round after that but Stiles still rides that high for the rest of the night.

\-----  
He’s in the 7/11 parking lot leaning against Derek’s Camaro, cherry slurpee in one hand while he plays a scrabble game on his phone against Scott’s mom. She’s really good at it, weirdly. And the pack is still inside trying to decide on which snacks to get. 

That’s when something in his lizard brain tells him to perk up, to take notice. He looks up to find a woman dressed all in leather staring him down from across the parking lot. They make eye contact and she starts walking towards him with what looks like an entire biker gang following after her.

It’s a werewolf pack, he realizes. The smirks they wear as they approach him give them away. It was eerily similar to how Erica or Isaac bare their teeth at him sometimes, somewhat threatening with a playful edge.

Who he assumes is the Alpha of the strange pack walks towards him with intent that makes his skin crawl with equal parts nervousness and anticipation. He stands up straight, chewing the straw of his drink as they approach him, walking like a pack of predators that has their prey in sight.

The Alpha comes to stand at the front, she’s about Lydia’s height. Her hair cut short and choppy, her lips twisted up in that same snarl as all the others. She’s just as hot as she is intimidating. Fuck, he can do this. He can do this.

“Where’s your Alpha, boy?” she asks in a cool, smooth voice.

“Sorry, don’t know what you’re talking about.” he shrugs, heart pounding in his throat he sips his slurpee and eyes the strange Alpha up and down. She really has a fantastic rack, squeezed all nice and tight in her black tank top. Yeah, he definitely still likes girls. Er- women.

She smirks at him but it’s more threatening than friendly, “Don’t bother lying, I can smell him all over you.”

No sooner than Stiles realizes he might be out of his element here he hears the scuff of shoes against asphalt before Derek’s sidling up behind him, hooking an arm over his left shoulder. The rest of him pressed hot and solid against his back. Stiles leans back into him, away from the other Alpha who’s all teeth now. 

He clears his throat and shifts in Derek’s hold. Unsure why Derek’s cozying up to him but he’ll take it over the way the other Alpha is looking at him right now. “Hey man, they’re looking for you.” he says, casually gesturing towards the other Alpha.

“Rachel,” Derek greets her, his voice rumbles familiarly against Stiles’ back.

“Aw fuck,” Isaac’s saying as the pack starts filing out of the store. “Can we do this later? I got dibs and they’re going to melt,”

“Isaac-” Scott’s hissing at him to /shut up/ while the other pack looks on at them, some of them look amused, like they’re entertained by them but others seem tense, prepared for a fight. 

“Yeah, shut up Lahey.” is Jackson’s addition and he hears someone, probably Lydia, smacking him on the arm.

“All of you shut up.” Cora says, sounding bored and the Alpha’s eyes snap towards her when she speaks. Like maybe she knows who she is and, like everyone else, had believed her to be dead.

“Guys I really don’t think this is the time for arguing.” Stiles says, that’s when they quieten and stare the other pack down. He can feel them squaring up behind them, tensing for a fight.

The pack across from them is similarly tense and Stiles rolls his eyes. Are they really about to have a showdown in the 7/11 parking lot? Seriously what is his life?

Stiles sends Derek a look, eyebrows drawn together and mouth turned down into a worried frown. ‘What’s the plan here?’ he means it to ask because he and Lydia aren’t exactly equipped for a werewolf turf war and he’s pretty sure they’re better off avoiding one in the first place. That’s when Derek snatches the slurpee out of his hand, the straw squeaking in protests as it’s pulled from between his teeth. 

A single string of saliva clings on for dear life; connecting his lip and the straw before snapping and gliding through the air happlessly as Derek brings it to his mouth.

“Dude!” Stile complains and Derek’s ducking his head and, licking up the strand of saliva like he just does that sort of thing. Like /they/ do that sort of thing. Then wrapping his frankly sinful lips around the same straw and drinking /Stiles’/ slurpee. 

He really isn’t sure how to feel about that. Uhh gross, maybe? And indignant because hello, he paid for that!

No, definitely not gross, Stiles thinks while he watches Derek swallow. Though, maybe Stiles is a little gross.

“We knew if we approached your human you would not be far behind,” Rachel addresses Derek while his head is bent over Stiles’ straw, taking a few seconds to drink the slurpee before answering because he’s kind of a dick like that. 

Stiles answers her while Derek hands Stiles’ drink off to Erica behind him. Why is it getting further away? “I’m not his hum- woah there, big guy!” Stiles gasps, his voice pitching higher as he jerks in Derek’s grasp. 

Derek’s hands are free now and for whatever reason that has Derek slipping them around his waist, cocooning Stiles in his arms and sliding broad hands, cold with condensation up his shirt and against Stiles’ skin. It jumps and clenches beneath Derek’s icey death hands just as uselessly as Stiles squirms in his hold.

“You have my attention,” Derek says casually while Stiles halfheartedly tries to pry Derek’s arms from around him, he can see him smirking out of the corner of his eye like his outrage amuses him.

“Oh my God,” he breathes when Derek jerks him back towards his chest, his hands starting to warm up so it’s no longer offensively cold and now it’s just skin against skin and not entirely unpleasant. The stirrings of something other than indignance have his pulse ricocheting in his chest.

“Yes, I can see that,” Racheal says, looking amused rather than miffed while Stiles reminds himself that he shouldn’t let himself get worked up by Derek’s hands on him. He’s surrounded by werewolves and they all are basically equipped with boner radar. Derek’s hands flex on him just to test his resolve.

“On your way somewhere?” Derek asks as Rachel watches Derek paw at him with keen interest. At some point it moved on from something playful to a little more possessive, like Derek has to stake a claim over him in front of the strange Alpha. 

Maybe Derek could tell Stiles had been checking her out and that breached some kind of pack rule Stiles didn’t know about. Maybe only Derek was supposed to scare him while also making him ridiculously turned on at the same time. He has some trouble remembering why he can’t just enjoy himself while Derek’s hands tease at the skin on his abdomen, a little ticklish.

“Passing through, thought I’d pay my respects.” Is her response. It’s quiet for a moment while she looks at Stiles strangely before speaking up again, “You really shouldn’t let him wander off on his own. He could end up in all sorts of trouble.” she says, and suddenly Stiles recognizes the look she’s giving him, like he’s a particularly tasty snack. Which on its own isn’t so bad because someone finally finds him attractive, but Stiles refuses to be talked about like he’s some kind of pet of Derek’s that he’d unwittingly set loose.

He’s speaking up before Derek has a chance to respond. “He doesn’t /let/ me do anything. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” He tells her tersely, tilting his chin up to meet her eyes defiantly. 

Rachel looks back at him, sharp eyes meeting his. She doesn’t look particularly angry or anything but she doesn’t look too pleased at Stiles’ outburst either.

Derek growls low in his ear, sending a shiver through him and crowds impossibly closer to Stiles. Like an angry doberman guarding his favorite toy. Stiles’ mouth has suddenly gone dry, which was probably something Derek was going for, maybe a tactic to get Stiles to shut the fuck up. And Stiles had to give it to him, it was definitely working. For now.

He tests Derek’s hold around him again to find it unyielding. What’s worse, Derek is all tight, coiled potential at his back. Like he’s having to restrain himself from what he really wants to be doing right now. And Stiles, God help him, likes it. With a sense of mortification he feels his body start reacting, and he knows whatever stirrings of arousal he’s experiencing must be making its way to the wolves' noses at this point. 

“Derek-” he starts, feeling like he should warn him while the possessive fingers on his stomach start to follow the hair on Stiles’ abdomen down... “Derek, what the hell-“ he’s saying automatically, he braces a hand on the roof of Derek’s car while the other one goes for Derek’s wrist. Whether it was to pull it away or urge Derek on further he didn’t know. Derek’s fingers barely dip into his pants before they draw away again, dragging up, taking his shirt with him and giving the other pack a flash of Stiles’ skin on his belly before splaying wide on his stomach possessively.

He distantly hears himself swearing while his head swims with arousal. Now no longer taking stock of the words he’s speaking, just letting them spill out on their own. Too busy trying not to get a full on boner in front of a potentially dangerous pack and remembering how to fucking /breath/ at the same time.

“He’s got quite a mouth on him,” Rachel says, sounding amused.

“You have no idea,” Derek’s saying, his voice pitching low and dark. Suggestive. It has Stiles’ protests fading halfway out of his mouth. And now he’s just thinking of that time back in his bedroom. Where Derek had his fingers in his mouth, when he was looking at him like he was having trouble resisting… like he /wanted/ him.

“He doesn’t always know what’s good for him.” Derek continues in that same tone that has Stiles reeling over how fucking sexy he sounds, “But wherever he is one of us is not far behind.”

That makes Stiles take pause. To think through the haze of arousal. It sounds like a message. A warning, to follow Derek’s lead. Derek’s doing this to keep them safe. And for whatever reason that means pretending they’re a /thing/ and coaxing Stiles into half hard in front of the other pack. So he reaches behind him to slide a hand across Derek’s frankly ridiculous abs. And relaxes back into him, letting him support his full weight.

He hears Derek’s breath catch in his ear and then he growls at that, /growls/ nuzzling into that spot behind his ear, tensing up just the tiniest bit against Stiles’ back. His abs clenching beneath Stiles’ fingertips. Huh, maybe he’s ticklish. He does it again.

Derek’s hand catches his and that’s his fucking mouth on the side of his neck. Stiles squeaks, chest heaving like he’s just finished a marathon and he yields under the pressure. Tilting his head to the side so Derek has free reign over the side of his neck.

“You’re so young,” Racheal says, watching Stiles get macked on and he gets the feeling that Derek accidentally took their little game of chicken too far. And now everyone knows how hard Stiles gets off on Derek. He’s never going to live this down. 

“You know, I’m not, baby face- holy shit.” he feels like maybe his eyes roll back in his head when Derek bites him with his dull, human teeth. A hand finds its way into Derek’s thick, soft hair, urging him on. He may as well seize the opportunity, he’s sure Derek wont so much as look at him once this is over.

“I suppose you’re both young. That’s why I came by, to see how what's left of the Hale pack is doing,” she says, looking past them at Cora. For some reason that sends a spike of alarm through him. He plays it cool, turns in, setting his mouth against Derek’s pulse and Derek stills all at once, just the slightest stutter-stop of movement like maybe he wasn’t expecting it.

That has Rachel’s eyes back on the pair of them as Stiles nuzzles into the scrape of Derek’s stubble, breathing hot little breaths against the vulnerable, sensitive skin of Derek’s neck. Derek’s hands tremble imperceptibly on Stiles’s waist. “So you’ve seen us, and we’re doing great-” Derek cuts him off with another one of those growls, tugging at Stiles’ belt loops of his pants and makes a soft, unhappy noise like he wants them /off/.

“He means-” Derek starts before clearing his throat, for once it’s his turn to be affected, “He means we’d be happy to host you and your pack in Beacon Hills for however long you keep the peace. We have a hesitant treaty with the hunters here-“

Stiles gets a little bit distracted from the conversation as claw tips and calloused fingers slide against his skin. Derek dips his fingertips just below Stiles’ waistband, filled with promises that he knows Derek won’t be able to keep. He squirms and reminds his dick that this is all make believe. And no one’s gonna do the hankey pankey with him any time soon.

Well, other than what he’s definitely going to be doing to himself tonight.

“Derek-“ he feels like he should warn him that if he keeps this up he might cum in his pants. Right here. So he clenches a fist in Derek’s hair and hopes he gets the message. He hears him suck in a breath.

“-he requires a lot of attention,” Derek’s saying just as he tunes in again.

“We’ll leave you to your mate, then. Goodbye Derek Hale.” Rachel says, and just like that her and her pack are turning and and crossing back through the parking lot where they came from.

Derek hmm’s again, “Goodbye Rachel,” he says, tangled as they are, Stiles can’t help but repeat the word ‘mate’ in his head. Why would Derek want her to think they were mates? And how was he able to convince her when they probably don’t even smell like they are?

They get into their flashy sports cars and trucks, their tires squealing as they drive off into the distance. Stiffly he detaches himself from Derek’s front once he realizes he’s let him go.

“Well that was,” Embarrassing, really really embarrassing. And hot. Stiles turns to face the pack but Derek’s still kind of blocking the way, he supposes it’s to preserve his dignity. Not like the other pack didn’t get a nice view as Derek got a rise out of him. Not like they can’t smell what a mixed bag of arousal and anxiety he is right now.

Scott seems to be having a hard time meeting his eyes, which is completely understandable. On the other hand, they’re bros and he could really use some moral support right now. 

Boyd’s the only one who looks the least bit sympathetic and holds his reign of being Stiles’ forever favorite. Although it can be hard to tell exactly how Boyd is feeling. Everyone else looks either disgusted or incredibly amused. Or just bored in Lydia’s case so he hasn’t just tarnished his relationship with everyone in the pack.

It’s just his luck that Cora’s here tonight, she didn’t come to most ‘packnights’ as Scott called them. For some reason she’s glaring hard at Derek but the effect is somewhat softened by the fact she’s holding a bag of gummy worms and it looks like she’s been eating them this whole time.

Stiles gets a flash of how ridiculous they must have looked, a bunch of teenagers and Derek who’s just turned 21 carrying snacks as they faced off the other pack. Not to mention that whole thing where Derek made a show of getting Stiles ridiculously turned on. What were they trying to achieve with that anyway?

Derek’s glaring right back at her. They’re doing that thing he’s seen siblings do where they communicate completely without words. He and Scott have it down pretty well but he doesn’t know if they’ll ever convey however much Derek and Cora are right now.

“You’ve had worse ideas,” Lydia finally says, tearing his eyes away from the two of them.

“I thought it was brilliant,” Erica chimes in from beside Boyd, their fingers are tangled together as she leans into him, her eyes bright with amusement.

“What just happened?” Isaac asks from besides Scott, he looks over at Scott like maybe he holds all the answers to the universe which is a tough break because Scott’s one of the most clueless people he’s ever met.

“Not my idea,” Stiles feels like he has to clarify, he just played along. He extracts Derek’s hand from where he still has a grip on him by the shoulder. 

“I think I’m gonna call it a night,” Stiles says, avoiding his gaze.

“Stiles-“ Derek’s saying but Stiles cuts him off.

“You owe me a slurpee,” he says, pointing at Derek as he backs away towards his Jeep.

“Bye,” he tells the rest of the pack, sending them a little half wave before hopping in his Jeep and starting the engine. The radio comes on with a crackle.

“Wait up!” Scott calls, and Stiles waits because he was Scott’s ride and he’s a good person. He waits just long enough for Scott to catch up and hop in. Then he guns it out of the parking lot before Scott even has his seat belt on. 

“Not a word,” he says to Scott who thankfully holds his hands up in surrender before dropping them down on his thighs. Keeping his mouth shut.

For all of five minutes. “So is that what you wanted to talk about last week?”

“Scott I really don’t wanna do this right now,” he sighs as he tries to focus on merging. They’re taking the long way home, Scott doesn’t question it.

“Stiles it’s okay if you like guys.” Scott says leaning his elbow on the air vents so he can look at Stiles more closely.

Stiles nudges him back into his seat. “I know that. You think I don’t know that?” Stiles says instead of really addressing the issue. Scott sighs and leans back into his seat, looking out at the road in front of them.

Scott reaches for the radio dial, turning down the variety station Stiles frequents until he has to strain to hear the 80’s love ballad they’re playing right now. Scott takes a deep breath and Stiles sends him a curious look.

“I uh- me and Allison? You know things have been weird since her mom died. And the thing with Gerard happened,” Stiles twitches just slightly when Scott mentions his name. Even he’s a little weird around Allison after seeing what her grandpa had been doing to Boyd and Erica and beating the shit out of Stiles.

It’s involuntary, a gut instinct when you look someone in the face and know. Your grandpa’s a psycho and so’s your aunt. Your mother chose to kill herself rather than become a werewolf. She chose to die than to be with her. Stiles can’t begin to imagine what that’s like.

“I don’t know if we broke up or whatever. But sometimes she’ll still come over to see me, and Isaac is living at my house now. And things will be /weird/ and I feel like something’s happening and I have no idea what.”

Stiles eyebrows pull together and he turns to look at Scott so he can see his face. “Scott, buddy, are you telling me what I think you’re telling me?”

“I kissed him,” Scott looks at him, eyes all big and brown and conflicted, “and I still love Allison even after everything that’s happened.”

“Are you being serious? When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me?” Stiles asks, a flurry of questions slipping past his lips before he can stop them. He has to force himself to focus on the road rather than to watch Scott for reactions.

Scott doesn’t respond just leans back in his seat and laughs like he isn’t sure what to say. 

“Since when have you liked dudes?” Stiles asks after a shocked silence. He feels like that’s something he would know about his best friend, despite the fact he’s been hiding a similar realization about himself from Scott. But Scott’s notoriously more oblivious than Stiles is.

Scott shrugs, “That’s the thing, I don’t. But Isaac… Isaac’s different.” something warm blooms in Stiles’ chest at Scott’s confession. A certain fondness for Scott’s puppy-like earnestness stopping him from voicing his usual complaints about Isaac. Sure, sometimes he’s a douche but he had a rough start and he’s been getting better, especially under Mellisa’s care.

“That’s kind of cute,” Stiles says, reaching over to pat Scott on the shoulder, “It’ll work out dude, whatever happens. You all clearly care about each other.”

“Thanks, I’m sorry you got felt up in front of everyone like that,” Scott tells him, wincing as he says it, “that’s got to be embarrassing.”

“Yeah, let’s not talk about that, how ‘bout?” Stiles insists, turning the radio back up again.

Scott nods, pressing his lips together in a way that says, ‘fine with me’.  
\-----

He’s fucking around with the red string on his crime board, trying to figure out if the disapearances have anything to do with the pack visiting Beacon Hills when the doorbell rings.

He’s home alone while his Dad’s busy at work so it’s up to him to answer the door. He runs down the stairs to open the door to Lydia’s impassive face.

“Oh, hey Lydia. Annnd Cora?” He questions when he looks past her to see Cora standing there too with her hands in her pockets.

“Hi,” Lydia says, smiling sweetly and letting herself in. Cora glares until he backs up enough for her to come in without having to enter his personal space.

“Yeah, come on in I guess,” he sighs as she walks past him and closes the door behind them.

“She’s mad because I insisted we use the front door,” Lydia informs him. Stiles cocks an eyebrow at Cora who continues to glare at him in a way that he can’t help but compare to her brother.

“Thanks for that, to what do I owe this pleasure?” he asks, leaning against the front door and looking them over. Lydia’s dressed in a skirt. Cora’s in plain, understated clothes as usual. He puts the chances of them wanting to go trekking in the woods about 50/50. He wonders if he should offer them a drink or if that would end up pissing Cora off somehow.

“Where’s your bathroom?” Cora asks abruptly instead of answering. Stiles points to the guest bathroom and she walks towards it without another word.

“Do you think all the Hale’s were like that or if it’s just the trauma,” he asks Lydia once she’s closed the door. He’s aware she can still probably hear him but that’s kind of the point.

Lydia rolls her eyes goodnaturedly “I think it’s endearing,”

“No, you’re with Jackson who never learned how to ask for things nicely so you /learned/ to think it’s endearing,” he counters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Lydia makes a soft noise of disagreement, “Hmn, I can make him ask for things /very/ nicely actually,” she says, her mouth twisting in a coy smile that tells him yes, she actually just /went there/.

“Okay, gross.” he answers, “new rule, we don’t talk about your and Jackson’s sex life because that’s horrifying and now I’ll never get these images out of my head.”

She laughs, clearly delighted at Stiles’ torment.

“So are we ever going to get to the point of why you’re actually here, with Cora for some reason? And don’t tell me it’s because you guys just can’t stay away because I’m pretty sure Cora can’t stand me.”

“We came because we were in the neighborhood and Cora needed to use the bathroom,” Lydia tells him, and he can’t tell if she’s being serious or not.

“Wait really?” he asks, Lydia rolls her eyes.

“You think it’s just one sided.” Lydia says, hands on her hips. Stiles stares at her.

He thinks about playing dumb but the longer Stiles takes to answer the more Lydia’s face tells him it’s not going to work and he’d an idiot for trying.

“Obviously! I mean he hates me and he’s all-” he gestures his hands vaguely in a way he means to convey how stupidly hot Derek is, “you know and I’m-“

“You’re not ugly, Stiles. I can’t believe I have to tell you this,” She interrupts.

“What with all the evidence pointing towards the contrary?” he says, bitterly. Accidentally baring what a sore subject this actually is. He shifts uncomfortably while Lydia considers him.

“Erica had a thing for you before she and Boyd got together,” she tells him gently.

Oh yeah, “Well yeah but that was when she was still sick-”

“Stop. You’re attractive. Sure your wardrobe could use a little help but that’s an easy fix.” she says brightly, Stiles ignores her jab at his dress sense considering he’s in his pyjamas right now.

“Thanks for the confidence boost but I don’t even think he likes guys,” he says a little weakly.

“He likes guys,” Cora says from behind him, Stiles jumps having forgot she was there.

“Cora, God don’t /do/ that. You could give me a heart attack-” he complains, turning towards her, “Wait what did you say?”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Cora says, sounding exasperated.

“Seriously?”

Lydia looks a little judgemental at the amount of hope in Stiles’ voice.

“Hey I’m not the only one with weird stuff going on right now,” he sneers at her, feeling the need to defend himself.

“Oh you mean Scott, Allison and Isaac?” Lydia asks, arching her eyebrows at him and crossing her arms.

Abort. “Er no? What?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, I can see right through you.” Stiles presses his lips together innocently, shrugging.

“I didn’t say a word about Scott or whatever /situation/ you think he’s in,” he says after a few moments of her staring at him. Cora huffs a soft breath of laughter, now beside him and looking down at her phone.

“Calm down, you didn’t give it away. I /am/ Allison’s best friend you know.” Lydia says proudly.

“She told you. Oh thank God,” He’s supposed to be good at secrets and lying and shit but Lydia is knocking down all his defenses without breaking a sweat.

“You should talk to Derek,” she says, “Now, I need you to get dressed. We’re going to the mall and you’re coming with us.”

Stiles spreads his arms apart indignantly, “What, I don’t get a say?”

“Nope!” Cora and Lydia say in unison.

It’s fun, at the mall. Lydia asks his opinion on things she tries on and he showers her with compliments. She eventually convinces Cora to try some things on and he does the same thing for her. She rolls her eyes each time but he actually sees her smile so he’d say he’s doing something right.

And when Lydia suggests he try something, well he listens because he’s aware his wardrobe is ‘something of a disaster’ by Scott’s Mom’s estimation.  
—-  
“Come to the reserve, I have something to show you,” these are the words Derek used to sweet talk him into driving up to the spooky woods and actually getting out of his car. He follows the coordinates Derek sent him, actual fucking coordinates until he spots a familiar shock of black hair through the mist and the trees.

“So what was so important I come to the woods with you? Is it the unknown substance you stuck your hand in? Need me to lick a tree, Derek? Cause I should tell you that’s where I draw the line.” he says, stepping into the clearing.

Derek stands there with his back turned to him, quiet. Stiles is used to Derek’s long silences and non-answers but he usually acknowledges him to some extent, to mock him at the very least.

“Yo, Derek. Can you hear me? Stiles asks, approaching carefully, knowing it’s not in his best interest to startle a werewolf. “You reek man,” Stiles tells him, looking over his ragged, dirty clothes. They don’t look like Derek’s regular Henley T-shirt, leather jacket and dark jeans combo. They look old and torn, ragged and washed out and gray with old mud and splatters of what looks like blood. 

Derek turns to face him, he looks tired and ragged. There’s even more blood on the front of him.

“What the hell happened?” Stiles asks, his voice pitching high with concern.

“There was a confrontation,” Derek’s voice sounds hoarse like he’s sick or something. Stiles wasn’t sure if werewolves could get sick. 

“Was it the palm reader parlor killer?” Derek doesn’t seem like he really hears him, just nods kind of absently.

“Did you- you know,” Stiles asks and makes a hand gesture he hopes conveys its death. “Kill him?”

“Not quite,” then he starts coughing violently, his whole frame wracking with it. 

“Whoah, you okay?” Stiles asks as Derek coughs some more, his hand on his chest like it’s exceptionally painful for him. Then there’s the sound of retching and Stiles reaches out to comfort him. But Derek’s turning much faster than he’s expecting, his face gaunt and strangely empty looking.

Stiles flinches, pulling his hand away. “Derek?” he asks, and Derek cocks his head at him, then turns to face him fully, his movements jerky and unnatural. There’s definitely something wrong here. 

Stiles reaches into his pocket as he backs away, thinking he should call Scott. Derek hunches over again, the retching starting up again the vomit foul smelling and the color of blood. He should definitely call Scott. He doesn’t know if Derek’s just really sick or if this even is Derek and the real Derek is dead but Holy God is this terrifying.

“Okay, you’re not looking so good, I think we should go back to the Jeep maybe-”

“I’m fine,” rasps out a voice that sounds nothing like Derek. “Really Stiles.”

“Right-” he says, pulling out his phone and Derek lunges for it, swiping it out of his hand and leaving shallow claw marks on his arm. Stiles yelps in pain and the phone lands in the soggy leaves with a thud and Stiles backpedals, slipping on the damp leaves and landing on his wrists awkwardly.

“Oh- shit!” he says, trying to back away, scraping his palms on tree roots and his fingers slipping on the damp, dead leaves. He stumbles back up to his feet and Derek doesn’t look like Derek anymore. His face gaunt and stretched out looking, his limbs long and emaciated, the way his ragged clothes hang off of him only accentuate that. His fingers are crooked and unnaturally long as they reach for him.

Fear has Stiles running back towards where he parked his Jeep, his tennis shoes slipping and sliding through the mud. He screams when something wraps around his ankle, upending him so he spills, landing hard on his chest and his head knocking into the soggy earth. He flips himself over, a long clawed hand still wrapped around his ankle as the thing crawls to align itself with him.

Stiles beats his hands against the things chest and weird bloated looking face, it’s eyes swollen and pale as if ready to burst. It screeches at him, its mouth unnaturally wide and filled to the brim with jagged looking teeth. Foul smelling saliva drips from its mouth, pooling between his collar bones. He gasps, disgusted and turning his face away from those teeth.

He kicks against it, baring his forearms, trying to push it away. It grasps his right wrist and pulls itself upright again and starts dragging Stiles behind it. Stiles cries out, tries to wrench himself out of its grasp but its hold on his wrist is unrelenting. He digs his heels into the earth, scratches at roots with his other hand all the while it continues its trek, seemingly unperturbed by all of his efforts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Then it’s lifting, pulling him up into the air by his wrist and a sudden burst of pain lances through it. He whimpers, unshed tears finally spilling out the corners of his eyes. He blinks them away. There’s four or five mounds of dirt laid out in front of him and he cries out.

“Derek! Derek!” he cries desperately. To the right of the mounds he sees a leather jacket and a pale, motionless body beneath it. Face down in the earth, a shock of black messy hair with clumps of dirt and blood standing out like a beacon. “Derek! Please!!” he begs, his voice desperate and shrill.

The thing throws him, and he lands besides Derek, his own elbow digging into his hip bruisingly. He flips over onto his back, wetness from the ground soaking into his shirt and jeans. Then the creature has its back turned towards him, its spine poking out against its grey skin. It’s heading to the other end of the mounds, a kind of shrine sticking out at the front of it. He reaches over to shake Derek’s shoulder as it starts doing something that looks like it might be its version of dancing.

Derek’s body is heavy and unresponsive, he shakes him harder. He isn’t getting any kind of response and the earth around his body is dark… soaked with blood he realizes when he looks down at his red-stained clothes. He bites his lip, breathing back sobs, he looks back up at the creature. It seems to still be busy, he looks back where he knows where his Jeep is. He thinks he can just see it through the trees.

He makes a decision. He runs. The air grows wet with mist as he runs as fast as he can. Refusing to look back, raindrops start tapping around him as he passes through the clearing the thing met him in. He hears shrieking behind him and he pushes himself, his legs and lungs burning with exertion.

He dodges through the trees, his legs powering him uncontrollably as he nears his Jeep. It’s the passenger's side facing him, he’ll have to climb over the console in order to get into the driver's seat. 

He’s close and he reaches into his pocket for his keys and that’s when he slips on old, wet leaves. his legs careen out of control and he spreads his arms out in front of him to try and catch his fall. That’s when his head smacks into the running board of the Jeep. Dizzy and the smell of blood filling his nostrils, he reaches up for the door handle. 

He barely gets it open before there’s an unbearable amount of pain shooting through his calf. He shouts as he’s dragged down from his Jeep and flipped over, grasping the inside of the door with all his strength. 

The thing’s changed its face again, now mostly covered in what looks like really gross looking cactus spines which he supposes are actually teeth of some kind. Its eyes are no longer anywhere to be seen. It’s long, sharp nails are digging into the meat of his calf as it tries to drag him away.

“No!” he yells, kicking at its frail looking chest and arms. It wheezes something wet at him while he struggles to pull himself back into the Jeep. 

Raindrops land on his face, splashing against his skin persistently. The thing reaches up with its other hand, its horrible nails digging into his chest and pulling. Screaming, kicking all the harder at it he reaches with his other hand, trying to find something to grab onto and pull himself into the Jeep.

It draws up him nearer, its hands seeking out his arms to try and pry them away. He grits his teeth and kicks out against its gnarly looking face just as his fingers brush against the hilt of his bat. Pain shoots through the bottom of his foot, its teeth having pierced through the sole of his shoe and he wraps his fingers around his bat and he swings, aiming for its face.

At first he thinks it’s lightning.

There’s an explosion of noise similar to the sound of lightsabers crashing together and bright, neon purple light dances from the end of his bat. He shuts his eyes against it, but he still sees flashes of light behind his eyelids. The crackling power is incredibly loud, he can feel the sound of it bouncing around his skull. His arm shakes with the blasts of power he feels going through him before it stops.

He opens his eyes taking in the little arcs of purple light sparking around the bat before fading out again. The creature’s body lays crumpled before him, it’s head is split open with black goop oozing from it. It’s teeth are scattered all around them.

Staring he straightens up, standing on both of his feet despite the pain. He bites his lip and looks back where he came from, where he knows Derek is. He’s pretty sure but he doesn’t know if the thing is dead. But he has to find out if Derek is okay.

He can’t run right now despite the adrenaline powering through him, his leg and foot are too fucked up for that. But he hobbles along, dragging the bat behind him in case anything else shows up. The rain starts picking up around him as he goes through the clearing. He stoops down to pick up his phone when he comes across it, the screen is cracked and there’s just lines of light flickering across the screen. He pockets it and goes to the shrine.

He drops to his knees beside Derek’s body, feeling sick as he prepares to turn him over. “Derek?” he whispers and pulls on his shoulder until he’s on his back. Derek’s shirt is torn to shreds, and there are deep gashes on his chest and torso like the thing went after him with its claws and teeth. There’s blood covering nearly every inch of him. “Derek.”

He chokes, fighting back tears he hides in the crook of his elbow for a breath. Two. Then he wipes a hand over his face. He reaches for Derek again with shaking hands. He’s cold and stiff when he touches him, tilts his head back and prys his mouth open so he can start CPR. “No,” he breathes through tears. “Don’t do this, man you can’t-” he starts compressions.

The worst part is Derek’s face, his expression frozen slack, his lips parted without breath. His eyes barely open, just enough to where Stiles can catch a glimpse of those colorful irises that can’t decide if they’re green, brown, or blue.

There’s so many words on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say them. So instead he counts his compressions, ugly, broken sobs slipping out of his mouth while the rain pours, soaking into his hair and shoulders and washing the blood off of Derek’s face. Making his hands slip through the blood.

He catches himself then leans down to give him a breath. Two.

“Derek!!” yelling he pounds at Derek’s chest. He feels warmth sparking at his fingertips and he pulls back to see more of the neon purple whatever it is dancing across his fingertips. He looks up to Derek’s slack face and takes a breath.

Derek’s whole body jolts when he presses his fingertips against his chest. Biting his lip he tries it again.

Derek surges up against him, gasping loudly and startling the hell out of Stiles. He jerks back, swearing in surprise. Derek falls back to the ground with a groan.

“Derek?” he asks.

“Stiles?” Derek asks, sounding disoriented. Stiles falls against him, wrapping his arms around Derek anywhere he can grab him.

Derek flinches, his body tense beneath him and Stiles apologizes through tears. “Stiles, my phone, in my jacket. I need you to call Scott.” nodding Stiles reaches into his jacket pocket, wondering why the hell he hadn’t thought of that already.

The relief he feels when he hears Scott’s voice over the phone is so strong it’s almost a physical sensation. “Derek?” he asks when he picks up, “Why are you-”

“Scott, it’s me. I need you to come down to the reserve.”

\---  
He had to be taken to the hospital while Derek saw Deaton at his clinic. Seeing as Derek’s the one who actually died he didn’t see how it was fair. 

Between tears, his father thanked God he was alright while clutching Stiles’ head to his chest. The smell of his father’s cologne filling his lungs Stiles held him back just as tightly.

He told them it was an animal attack and he’d managed to escape in his Jeep. He felt conflicted not telling them he knew where the missing persons bodies were. But he didn’t exactly have an explanation for them.

Melissa looked at him like she didn’t quite believe him but Stiles couldn’t exactly tell her the truth with his dad sitting right there could he. 

She helped wrap him up, gave him some stitches and antibiotics. His right arm had a spiral fracture and he needed a cast.

Scott is the first one to sign his sky blue cast while they sit in the waiting room of Deaton’s office. The S is loopy while the T’s are jagged, Scott grins at him when he points it out. 

Apparently, it takes a while for the wounds the monster had inflicted on Derek to heal. Even if he was an Alpha. Jackson and Lydia weren’t there anymore. They left sometime after six, Jackson had looked conflicted like he wanted to be there for his Alpha but he was also uncomfortable with the prospect of it. But they knew Peter would be around and Stiles doesn’t blame Lydia for wanting to be as far away from that psycho as possible 

Cora and Peter were currently out on a grocery run, the rest of the pack waiting diligently for Deaton to come out with any news. Stiles’ dad had been reluctant to let him go, but Stiles had urged him to go back to work and finish his shift. He wanted to be there for Derek.

The wolves around him all kind of stiffen up at once, prompting Stiles to look up just as a group of people all dressed in leather reaches the clinic door. He looks at the ‘Open’ sign turned to face the waiting room, hoping they take the hint. 

Of course they don’t, it’s never that easy. Trust a pack of werewolves to not appreciate the subtlety of a ‘Closed’ sign.

Stiles stands, bat gripped in his good hand, he hasn’t really let it go since he got out of the hospital. He stares them down as they file into the clinic.

It’s the same pack from the 7/11 parking lot he realizes as the Alpha comes to stand across from him.

“We heard about your Alpha.” Rachel says, her hands on her hips as she looks at them, her eyes lingering on Stiles’ scrapes and bruises.

“Then you heard he’s just fine.” Erica says, coming to stand beside him. Isaac slips up next to him also resting a hand on his shoulder. Boyd and Scott come in close too, a line of solidarity. Five against nine, they’re outnumbered if it comes down to a fight. Adrenaline begins to pump through him, his pulse thrumming beneath his skin, electricity in his veins.

“Are you sure what did this is dead?” she asks looking around at the members of the pack as if they are hiding the monster somewhere in the clinic.

“It’s dead,” Stiles cuts in, remembering how the cactus looking mother fucker had looked with its head split wide open. His fingertips tingle. He knows without having to look there’s more purple light around him. Rachel’s eyes slide across Stiles’ form, looking more alert. Considering.

Everyone flinches when the door tinkles as it opens again and Cora and Peter enter the clinic.

Peter stops in his tracks when he looks up from the bags of groceries he’s carrying. “Oh, my. Are we interrupting something?” Peter asks, walking up to the front desk in front of the other pack to drop off the grocery bags. He turns around to face the room when he’s finished, looking unconcerned. But his hands are free now. “little standoff of sorts?”

Cora looks a little more concerned by the strange pack filling up the small waiting room. Or maybe concerned that they’re going to end up ruining the donuts she brought with her.

“They were just leaving,” Stiles says, his voice hard with warning and he hears his bat crackling with energy, louder with each moment they stand in front of him.

There’s some movement from behind the counter and Deaton appears, blood stains up to his elbows on his crisp white button up shirt. Derek’s blood. “Ah, Rachel!” Deaton says, his arms spread wide in greeting, “how nice of you to drop by, I’m afraid I’m a bit preoccupied at the moment. Why don’t you come by again next week?”

Rachel stares at Deaton for a few moments, her Beta’s shifting restlessly behind her, then her eyes shift back to Stiles. Now seeming unwilling to let him out of her sight for too long. “That’s fine.” she says, flipping her hair over her shoulder. She turns stiffly and heads for the door, her Beta’s moving out of the way for her. Cora glares as she passes and the other pack slips out the door after her.

It’s quiet after the door closes, they watch them leave through the glass.

“So, who wants donuts?” Peter asks, cutting through the silence.

“You came a little late to the party,” Stiles says as Erica and Boyd move past him to swarm around Cora who’s still holding the box of donuts.

Cora shrugs, “Bashers was all out of old fashioned blueberry.”

“Who even /likes/ old fashioned blueberry?” Erica asks, reaching out and grabbing a chocolate sprinkle from the box.

“I do!” Cora says, holding the box to her chest protectively, Boyd follows with his hand trying to reach for something. “and if you don’t that’s just more for me!” 

“Hold still,” Boyd tells her as he gets whatever he’s reaching for.

Deaton chuckles goodnaturedly, sighing before taking a seat behind the desk. He looks tired.

“Is Derek doing okay?” Stiles asks, worriedly. Everyone’s eyes turn on Deaton.

“Derek is going to be okay, I just need to rest for a few moments.” Deaton reassures him. “He isn’t ready to be seeing anyone as of yet.”

Peter massages his temples and leans back against the counter. “Please tell me he’s at least not bleeding profusely anymore.” he doesn’t really buy into Peter’s apparent concern for Derek but Stiles has the same question.

Derek’s body had been producing more blood but his wounds hadn’t been healing so he’d just kept bleeding. It’d been more than a little freaky. And Stiles had felt helpless in being able to stop it. 

“Yes, I’ve stopped the bleeding.” Deaton tells him and Stiles can’t help his sigh of relief. He’s still tense though, he’d genuinely thought they were going to try something and Stiles can’t yet bring himself to relax. 

“Did you at least get some you know that Derek likes?” Isaac asks Cora as he approaches.

“Of course,” Peter pipes up, “what do you take us for?” 

“His favorite is maple long john,” Cora says, slapping Isaac’s hand away from one. He rolls his eyes and grabs something sugary looking with raspberry filling in the middle. Sties didn’t know Derek could like anything so sweet

Erica’s looking at him strangely while she licks the frosting off of her doughnut.

“What?” Stiles asks her.

“Your eyes glowed purple dude,” Scott informs him, standing next to Cora no doubt looking for something chocolate and filled with custard. 

“Yeah, I couldn’t help but notice that too,” Peter says, “That’s not normal for you is it?” he asks looking over at Stiles like he’s genuinely unsure.

Stiles ignores him and catches Deaton watching him. He has a suspicion Deaton knows exactly what’s going on with him.

“It was hot,” Erica adds before accepting a bite of cinnamon twist that Boyd’s held out for her. 

“Think so?” Stiles asks, Boyd nods assuringly as Stiles takes his seat again. His leg was starting to hurt like a son of a bitch.

Cora finally puts the doughnut box down on the counter next to Peter, Deaton goes to stand up, maybe to wash his hands before he can eat one. “You look like shit,” she tells him before making her way over to him. She holds out a strawberry frosted doughnut, his favorite. “Can I sign your cast?”

He accepts the doughnut with his left hand and holds out a sharpie for her. “Please don’t draw a dick anywhere I can’t hide it.”

“I could never,” she says, rolling her eyes and taking the sharpie. Isaac takes Scott’s old seat next to him and reaches out uncertainty before resting his hand against Stiles’ skin.

Stiles gasps when he starts taking his pain away, Isaac’s veins turning black as he does it. But there’s something else happening and Isaac’s eyes connect with his. He can feel it too, chills and goosebumps break out on his skin, the hair on his arms standing on end as electricity passes between them. The lights in the clinic flicker over head. 

Something similar had happened when Scott rushed him to the hospital and had reached out to Stiles in the passenger's seat to take his pain away. The lights on his radio had flickered for a few seconds while he shivered beneath Scott’s touch. And Scott had pulled his hand away and looked at him wide-eyed like maybe he could feel it too.

He’d thought it’d been a fluke, just residual energy from whatever had happened with the bat. But now it was still happening. Isaac pulls his hand away after a few more seconds and Stiles looks around, his head buzzing a little from the endorphins that normally comes when wolves take his pain away, to find everyone's eyes on them.

“What was that?” Peter asks.

“Comes with the glowing eyes,” Stiles says, his fingers curling into fists defensively at his sides.

“I think it’s cool,” Scott cuts in, “makes taking away your pain more bearable at least.”

“It definitely wasn’t boring,” Isaac says, flexing his wrist as the black lines fade from his skin.

“Thanks man,” Stiles says, referring to Isaac taking his pain away, now he can focus on things over than where the thing had scratched him and his aching wrist.

“No problem,” Isaac says, smiling and finally able to meet his eyes again.

Cora ends up drawing a grossly exaggerated set of saggy breasts with a note, ‘for you to jerk off over’ luckily in a place Stiles can hide if he needs to. Stiles starts laughing once he realizes what the hell she’s doing, Cora chastising him because she isn’t finished and “you’re gonna ruin the drawing, Stiles,”

Erica comes up next, also drawing something but she won’t let Stiles look until she’s finished. Stiles occupies himself with the donut Cora brought him.

“That’s pretty good,” Scott says, looking down at Erica’s drawing. 

“Thanks,” she says simply.

“If you like that sort of thing,” Cora says but he can tell she’s teasing. Erica looks over her shoulder to flash a smile at her.

“What are you going to write?” Isaac leans over to ask Boyd who’s sitting in the chair on the other side of Stiles. Boyd looks at Stiles then down at his cast before meeting Isaac’s gaze again.

“Get well soon,” Boyd says flatly.

“Good one, babe.” Erica says from where she’s kneeling by Stiles’ feet.

“I like it,” Stiles says with a smile, “short and sweet.”

“I am sweet,” Boyd says with so much conviction Stiles has no choice but to agree with him.  
\---  
The following afternoon Stiles stops by the clinic to check in on Derek.

“Oh, Stiles,” Deaton says when he comes out from the back, smiling pleasantly at him, “Derek’s not here anymore.”

“Where did he go?” Stiles asks with a frown. This is the first time he’s heard anything about Derek being well enough to leave the clinic.

“It wasn’t my place to ask,” Deaton says diplomatically, “I’m sure you’ll see him again soon. He knows you saved him, Stiles.”

Stiles nods, wondering where the hell Derek could’ve run off to, “Right,” maybe one of his Beta’s know where he is.

“I can tell you what I told Derek just before he left, if that would help.” Deaton offers.

Stiles gestures for Deaton to ‘go on’. And refrains from saying, ‘yes that would have been fantastic to start with!’

“The demon you killed was simply a puppet for a witch seeking longevity and power. You and Derek and it’s other victims were to be sacrificed. What you did to the demon will have either killed the witch or gravely injured it. One thing is certain. If it is still alive it is weak and vulnerable, but no less dangerous.” That’s a bit ominous.

Stiles knows exactly where to look for Derek then, and the witch. What he doesn’t know is how Derek plans on getting past the mountain ash.

“So he’ll be looking for the witch, alone.” Stiles says, shaking his head. How could one person be so reckless?

“If you’d like I could be of some help with another matter before you go.” Deaton offers his tone light. Stiles looks up at him, confused.

“Like what?”

“I could tell you what you are, and how to control it,” Deaton says, gesturing towards the bat Stiles had taken into the clinic without noticing, “You haven’t been able to part with that since the incident have you?”

Right. That.

Stiles props the bat up against the wall self consciously, he must look ridiculous toting around an aluminum bat everywhere he goes. “No, I guess not?”

“It’s called a spark, what you have. It’s an amazing gift.” Deaton says, holding his hands together and nodding encouragingly.

“Is it permanent?” Stiles finds himself asking, he doesn’t know what answer he wants to hear. Doesn’t know if he wants to know.

Deaton nods again. “Your spark is a part of you and it’s also a living thing. It is pure energy and sometimes has a mind of its own. You need to learn how to control it so you don’t end up exposing yourself.” 

“That doesn’t sound ideal,” Stiles says.

“It isn’t ideal, but I have a feeling it’s going to be helping you and your friends out a great deal. As it already has.” Deaton makes a good point, he probably wouldn’t still be here if not for his spark and neither would Derek.

“What can you teach me?”  
\---  
He leaves an anonymous tip with the station about where to find the bodies of the creature’s victims but not before letting Deaton get there first. Apparently the teeth of whatever the hell attacked them are very valuable, and rare. Not to mention he’s not sure what Beacon Hills Police Department would make of the creatures crumpled body 30 or so feet away from the bodies.

Most of them are the missing person’s on Stiles’s crime board with loose connections to the magic shop Stiles had visited. He looks at their faces as he takes them down contemplatively. That could have been him. It /was/ Derek.

He goes back to the magic shop looking for the witch Deaton had referred to. Lydia, Jackson and Scott come along as well, acting as back up. 

“Don’t be stupid, Stiles,” Lydia tells him when he tries to tell her no. “I’m going and that’s final.”

Scott waits in the parking lot with Jackson, looking incredibly wary but resigned at the same time because he can’t stop Stiles and Lydia from going. He’s half surprised he can still make it past the mountain ash barrier. But he’s at the door in a manner of seconds.

Anna recognizes him when he comes in, but her friendly smile turns dazzling when her eyes land on Lydia.

“Hi, you have such pretty hair,” she gushes over her, which Stiles thinks is an appropriate reaction to meeting Lydia. When she’s not being completely intimidating.

“Oh, thank you.” Lydia says, sounding surprised although clearly preening under the attention. She props her hands on her hips, her chest puffing proudly, her full lips turned up in a pleased smile. 

“What brings you to the store?” Anna asks, leaning over to prop a hand on the desk and making some serious eye contact, and drawing their eyes to her low-cut shirt which Stiles quickly averts his gaze from. That clearly isn’t for his benefit.

He coughs awkwardly, slightly scandalized by her blatant flirtation. “I uh- thought I’d show her how cool this place was,” he butts in.

She leans across the counter further to point at Stiles “Your aura has changed,” she says, scrutinizingly.

“Has it?” Stiles asks, bringing a thumbnail up to his mouth to chew on and shifting awkwardly. He doesn’t really know if he believes in that stuff but he didn’t used to believe in werewolves either so-

She nods, her eyes wide. “What happened?” She asks, gesturing towards his cast.

“He was attacked recently…” Lydia answers for him, nice and vague.

She blinks at them, straightening back up and crossing her arms, “This must have to do with Mrs. Brenner,” she says decisively.

“Mrs. Brenner?” Stiles prompts her.

“Something weird happened in her shop. Looks like a fire maybe. Small. She hasn’t shown up today. I called her. No answer,” she says, holding up her palms and shrugging.

“Did you call the police?” Lydia asks. Stiles already knows she hasn’t.

She shakes her head, “Not yet, I was going to if she didn’t come by the end of the day.”

“Can we still go back there?” Stiles asks, gesturing towards the back where he knows it is.

She shrugs, “I won’t stop you.”

Everything in the front of the shop seems more or less the same as they walk through it. Lydia only stops once to pick out a book on witches. She shrugs at Stiles’ bewildered expression when he sees her holding it. “What, there could be something helpful in here.”

He doesn’t comment but shakes his head at her reasoning.

“Stiles what the hell is that?” Lydia asks him when they step into the back of the store. 

The biggest mirror on the back wall has cracked right down the center and there’s smaller cracks branching off from the middle. Some of the surrounding mirrors have cracked from the impact. The floor in front has scorch marks all over it. Like maybe there had been a fire.

“Er- I have no idea,” he says but he thinks, maybe it has something to do with him killing the creature.

Something occurs to him and he goes over towards the register, Lydia still standing in front of the mirror. He steps behind the counter and opens up a drawer he finds there. It’s empty, only more scorch marks there to greet him.

“Can we go?” Lydia asks, her voice cracking with emotion. Stiles looks over to see her cheeks wet with tears.

“Yeah, we can go,” Stiles says gently, concern has him coming back to stand beside her and resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t know why I’m crying,” she says, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. She’s still staring up into the cracked mirror. 

“It’s okay,” he reminds her, and starts steering her away from the mirror by the grip on her shoulder. The instant she isn’t facing it anymore he feels her shoulders relax and she takes a deep breath.

“I’m okay,” she agrees, before looking back at Stiles. He gives her a reassuring smile.

They circle back to leave, hearing familiar voices as they approach the front. He stops before descending the steps.

It’s Allison and Mr. Argent standing at the front counter, boxes of herbs laid out in front of them as Anna puts them in small bags for them.

“What are you two doing here?” Chris Argent asks when he looks over to see Stiles and Lydia.

“Just checking out the library,” Stiles answers, taking the book Lydia’s been carrying out of her hands to show them.

“Why do you have a bat?” Allison asks, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. 

“What, you get your fancy arrows and bullets and I don’t get any protection?” He asks her. Allison doesn’t seem to have any kind of response to that.

“Wait, what happened to you?” Allison asks, coming towards them. “Are you okay? Scott didn’t say it was this bad.”

“I’m fine, really.” He says when Allsion tries to protest.

“I’ll call you later,” Lydia says to her, “kay?”

“We’re going to be a while, why don’t you go ahead of us?” Chris asks, stepping back from the counter and gesturing for them to go in front of him.

“Sure,” Lydia says, taking the book back from Stiles and walking up to Anna’s desk with a hair flip. “Thanks, Mr. Argent.” She says as she hands the book to Anna to ring up.

“Don’t mention it,” he says, his eyes narrowed suspiciously. Allison watches Stiles as he comes down the steps to stand beside her, looking concerned.

“This is a good one,” Anna tells Lydia, “very accurate,”

They come out to find Isaac, Boyd and Erica also waiting for them by Jackson’s car.

“Wow, guys. Real subtle.” Stiles comments as they approach them. Scott looks a little sheepish while Jackson shrugs.

“I tried telling them,” Jackson says, wrapping an arm around Lydia when she gets close enough.

“So?” Isaac asks, “What was in there?”

“Just a big, creepy, broken mirror that made me cry for some reason.” Lydia shrugs.

“And the Argent’s,” Stiles adds.

“We saw them go in,” Erica nods, “are they looking for the same thing we are?”

“I think they’re stocking up on magic bullets because of the other pack that’s been hanging around,” he answers, “we should probably go though, we don’t want to be too conspicuous.”

Boyd nods and starts leading Erica away from where he and Jackson parked. Isaac’s looking at him imploringly which means he probably wants a ride home. Which he guesses is fine because he’s taking Scott there anyway.

“How’d you guys get here?” He calls over to Erica and Boyd.

“Derek lent me his keys when he woke up. Said I could use it if I went and got it from the reserve.” Boyd answers.

“You know where Derek is?” Stiles asks, Boyd shakes his head.

“He’s hiding out right now, doesn’t want to see anyone.” Stiles tries not to let his disappointment show but he can tell he isn’t doing such a good job of it when Scott rests a comforting hand on his shoulder.

“Derek will be fine, I’m sure Cora’s looking after him.”  
—-  
He and Scott are doing homework together at Scott’s house when Stiles’ phone rings.

They look at eachother, both thinking maybe it’s Derek. He flips his phone over to find Lydia’s name in big letters and the picture he has saved for her displayed on the screen

Slightly disappointed he answers the phone, “Heyy Lydia,” he says brightly.

“Did you know the book I bought was written by a banshee?” She asks, “supposedly,” she tacks on at the end.

“Ah, no can’t say I did.” He says, leaning back in his seat to look up at the ceiling.

“That’s odd right?” She asks, sounding unsure.

Stiles nods despite the fact she can’t see him, “Yeah, totally odd.”

“According to this Banshees and Witches don’t really get on together because of witches' association with demons and their habit of, you know, stealing souls.”

“That’s fun..?” He answers, filing that bit of information under the folder in his brain labeled ‘weird things about Banshees’.

“And witches can’t stand the scream of a banshee.”

“No offense Lydia, but I’m pretty sure no one can stand the scream of a banshee.” Scott nods seriously beside him.

“No, but I think the book means it can be used as a weapon against them,”

“Wait, you think you can fight it?” Scott cuts in, leaning into Stiles’ space so he can talk into the receiver. Stiles smacks his shoulder playfully.

“Maybe, if anything in this book isn’t complete B.S.”

“Did you talk to Allison like you told her you would yet?” Stiles asks.

“Not yet, why?”

“Maybe leave out the part about the new powers? I don’t want her Dad to start coming after me, you know?”

Scott coughs awkwardly, suddenly hiding his face away from Stiles’ gaze.

“Really Scott?”

“Her Dad’s not gonna come after you, dude. And even if he does I won’t let him /get/ you.” Scott says, flashing him an innocent smile.

“That’s really assuring, thank you.” Stiles answers, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Well, I’m gonna go now. Thanks for listening, Stiles,” Lydia cuts in.

“Uh yeah, no problem.” He tells her distractedly. The phone beeps as she hangs up.

“Do you think it’s still alive?” Scott asks after a moment of quiet.

He shrugs, “Maybe,” but there’s a sense of anxiety still picking at him that tells him; Yes, the witch is alive and she’s biding her time, waiting for the right moment to strike.

”Knock, knock,” Melissa’s warm voice cuts through his thoughts and she pokes her head in the door to look at them.

Scott rolls his eyes.

“Do you need to stay the night, Stiles? I know your dad won’t be home until late.” Melissa says, sounding like the classic concerned mother she is.

“No that’s okay, thanks though,” he answers, he likes being home when his Dad works late so he isn’t coming home to an empty house. “I should probably get going actually.”

—-  
School is pretty much the same. Although Finstock does take a moment to ask what the hell happened to him in the middle of class, prompting everyone to openly stare at him.

“Animal attack,” he says simply, leaning back in his seat and fiddling with his pencil.

“Oh dang that’s serious. Was it like a Doberman or something more deadly? Not that it’s less scary either way! Just, well you know,” Flinstock flaps his arms around as if that’s supposed to explain what he’s trying to say.

“Mountain Lion,” he dryly repeats the lie he told the hospital about what happened to him.

“Ohh yeah! That’s badass! Right on Stillinski!” there’s some coughing coming from the back of the classroom, probably Danny cause Danny’s got his back like that. Coach looks around at the other students and seems to realize that may not have been the most appropriate reaction, “Oh uh yeah, I mean that’s horrible. You must be terribly traumatized.”

“Only a little bit,” he says, demonstrating by holding out his thumb and forefinger and leaving a little bit of space between them. 

Allison catches him outside of the school just before he leaves for home asking if she can sign his cast. She dots the i with a little heart and flashes him her dimples when he thanks her.

“It wasn’t really an animal attack was it?” She asks shyly, playing idly with her backpack strap over her shoulder.

“What, Scott didn’t tell you everything already?” He asks, somewhat bitterly.

“Not everything,” Allison answers, shaking her head. “Was it the other pack that’s in Beacon Hills?”

“Ahh, no,” Stiles admits after being quiet a moment too long and Allison starts looking sorry for asking, “I don’t really know what it was but it’s gone now. I think Deaton probably knows though.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” Allison asks, equal parts concern and curiosity.

“Promise not to go right to your dad?” 

Allison nods seriously and reaches out to hook her pinky around Stiles’ on his good hand. Stiles laughs and squeezes her pinky with his.

They talk for a solid hour leaning against his Jeep. Stiles tells her about the demon and how it made itself look like Derek. How Derek had died and Stiles brought him back.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Allison tells him before pulling him in for a hug.

“Thanks,” he says, hugging her back hesitantly. They say their goodbyes before parting and heading back to their houses.

He isn’t all that surprised to find Derek waiting on his bed when he opens his bedroom door. He feels a rush of relief when he looks him over. He seems healthy as ever.

“Stiles,” he says by way of greeting. He watches as his eyes linger on his bandages, and cast. Derek comes to stand in front of him, tired-looking eyes tracing over him with worry.

“Sign my cast?” he asks, proffering a sharpie from his hoodie pocket. 

Derek stares for a second like the question confuses him before he nods and takes the sharpie. His eyes track down the other signatures, lingering on Erica’s wolf drawing and Isaac's surprisingly elegant scroll. 

“I hope you’re adjusting well,” Derek says like they’re nothing more than passing acquaintances like he didn’t crawl through his bedroom window so he would be there when he got home. To make sure he was safe. 

But there is warmth in his voice. Taking Stiles' arm in hand he starts writing, his head bent low as he writes. 

“Makes jerking off harder but I’m nothing if not determined.” he says looking at the back of Derek’s neck. Derek looks up at him, his face sour but Stiles can detect a hint of amusement behind the scowl. Derek lets go of his arm and Stiles looks down to see what he’s written.

‘THANK YOU’ in all caps and just beneath it ‘-DEREK’ Stiles exhales softly through his nose at the short, Derek esqu message. He does seem like an all caps kind of guy.

“It made itself look like you,” he says after a pause, “the thing. It uh,” he clears his throat, suddenly feeling strained. “It had your face.”

Derek nods like he expected as much, “It did the same to me, I thought maybe you were sick but- you didn’t smell like you.”

“What do I normally smell like?” He asks, suddenly curious.

This makes Derek look uncomfortable.

“What do I just smell turned on all the time?” He jokes, not sure why that would make Derek uncomfortable.

“Like any other teen does. Luckily I know how to tune it out.” Stiles laughs nervously, that’s a relief then. At least Derek wasn’t being constantly assaulted by the scent of horny teenage boy, “You smell like sweat and soap, your shampoo, deodorant and laundry detergent.” 

“Oh yeah- I guess that makes sense,” he’s slightly put off by the simple answer, somehow he’d expected more.

Derek looks at him intently before continuing, softly, “Besides that, you smell like warmth, like sunshine on a field of grass. You smell like your father, and pack.”

While looking into Derek’s eyes he remembers that heartbreaking moment he thought he’d never see them looking back at him again. Guilt rushes through him, sudden and overwhelming. Feeling he doesn’t deserve the fondness in Derek’s voice as he describes his scent to him. He left Derek for dead.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles blurts out, “I tried to leave you. It was distracted and I ran-“ his voice breaks on the word and Derek’s face becomes blurry as his eyes begin to water.

Derek steps forward then, his arms enveloping Stiles in a warm embrace. If that wasn’t enough of a shock the room kind of rumbles as a sensation goes through him and Derek tenses like he doesn’t know if he should be stepping away or not.

“It’s our energy meeting… interacting. Your wolf and my spark. It’ll stop in a second.” He says quickly, wrapping his arms around Derek so he doesn’t freak out and end their maybe a hug before Stiles even gets to process it. The room stops rumbling but there’s still a sensation going through him, like the freefall during a roller coaster.

“Scott liked it so much he kept coming back for more,” he informs Derek who’s still stiff in his arms. He doesn’t mention how Peter had eyed him with keen interest while it’d happened, like he was looking for a way to exploit Stiles’ newfound power.

“It’s not… unpleasant. It feels like... power, you feel powerful,” Derek says, sounding almost breathy, if Derek could ever be described as breathy. Stiles feels his face heat and doesn’t tell Derek he can feel his wolf's power all around him, sliding against his skin and burrowing in his chest.

It comes to an end as suddenly as it started and they’re just standing in the middle of Stiles’ bedroom holding one another.

“You saved me, Stiles.” Derek says simply, “You are the reason I’m here.”

Stiles sighs, pressing his forehead into Derek’s shoulder thinking that this is it, this is the most he’ll ever get out of Derek and he should be okay with that. Their tentative friendship is valuable enough.

\---  
Stiles is in The Jungle surrounded by drag queens trying to get his dance on. He thought maybe if he could find someone to fuck around with he’d be able to forget things for a while. 

And that’s when he sees him.

“No- no! I’m busy!” Stiles says, shouting over the music as Derek makes a beeline for him. Even though he knows Derek would be able to hear him just fine even if he were whispering. Or maybe not /really/ whispering but he’d definitely be able to hear him if he were talking normally. “This is Stiles time!”

“You’re drunk,” Derek says, when he gets to him, like it angers him.

“Am not!” He protests, because he isn’t. He’s only had one drink so far. That was barely enough to get him buzzed. Derek grabs him by the elbow, pulling Stiles through a sea of bodies despite his protests.

Derek opens a door at the back of the club, leading him into darkness. A hallway that echoes as Stiles’ clumsy feet skid against the concrete.

“What the hell, man?” He asks Derek as he stumbles into something solid. Very solid, and warm. Derek’s hands catch him when he bounces off of his chest. Then there’s a hand around Stiles’ wrist, pulling it up towards Derek’s face.

“I thought I smelled-“ Derek’s holding his wrist and he feels his breath against his skin then the soft brush of lips. And Derek breathing deeply. ‘Dude, that’s /weird/‘ he almost says. Instead he stands in Derek’s hold, his mind flashing back to when Peter had offered him the bite. But that’s not what this is. This is something different.

Maybe it’s a little impulsive. But Stiles is an impulsive person for better or worse and he wouldn’t be where he is in life if not for it.

He reaches up with his other hand, tangling his fingers in Derek’s hair and pulls him in, Derek goes surprisingly easily. But he diverts his aim at the last second. His mouth lands on Stiles jaw and slides against his neck. But that’s better than pulling away all together so he’ll take it.

Derek’s gentle hands on his shoulders start pushing him back and Stiles, unwilling to let him go, pulls him with. Then his back is against a wall and Derek’s at his front and his mouth is on his neck, breathing him in like he can’t get enough. He realizes it’s because Derek /likes/ the way he smells and it’s fucking pefect.

He turns in slowly so their noses brush against each other and Derek moves into it, their breath intermingling. Then their mouths brush against each other and then they’re kissing, Stiles realizes, a little giddily. They’re actually kissing, Derek’s lips full and demanding as they slide against his, a little unpracticed on Stiles’ part, okay because it’s been a while since he’s kissed anyone.

Derek’s hands leave his shoulders in favor of cupping Stiles by the back of his neck and directing him to tilt his chin up. Now the kiss is open mouthed and sloppy because Stiles isn’t exactly the best at multitasking, at least not at the moment. He slides his hands against Derek’s chest and stomach and really, anywhere he can touch him.

He tugs Derek’s hips closer to him by his belt loops and Derek makes this adorably surprised sound as Stiles starts to rock against him. And Derek remains stubbornly still so Stiles slides a hand down to Derek’s fly and gets a good handful of an erection. Fuck yes Derek is hard for this too! Derek groans and drags his hand away, pinning it up by his head with effortless strength that makes Stiles’ knees weak.

But then Derek’s other hand is sliding up his thigh to wrap his fingers around it and pull it up around his waist before rocking against him. And Stiles tosses his head back to hiss,“Yess,” his mind going fuzzy as Derek directs the pace, getting Stiles all kinds of hot and bothered.

They start getting into a rhythm, soft noises of encouragement falling from Stiles’ mouth with each roll of their hips. Derek’s stubble is scraping against the sensitive skin of his neck, probably giving him some serious beard burn, as Derek hopefully leaves a line of hickeys in his wake.

The sound of their heavy breathing and moans of pleasure on Stiles’ part are the only things pervading through the dark that wraps around them like a blanket. And Stiles thinks he could stay like this forever. Or until he cums, which won’t take long if things keep going the way they are.

Derek drags him back in for another kiss, this one even more sloppy than the last and it’s all because of the delicious friction that’s almost too much. Through too many layers of clothes he can still feel the heat of Derek’s hardness against his thigh, and it gives him a ridiculous sense of pride. He did /that/ Derek is hard for him.

All too soon Derek slows and stills against him, stops kissing Stiles like it’s difficult for him. But Derek’s still stopping. Why is he stopping?

“Stiles-“ Derek says, sounding strained, and his thigh is released from the death grip and Stiles makes a soft sound of discontent as he finds his footing again.

He clings onto Derek, pulling Derek closer by his fingers in his hair, all but begging for him to at least kiss him again. He feels Derek shake his head against his shoulder and neck. Hands sooth down his sides for a moment, like an apology.

“God,” he lets out a frustrated little grunt as Derek detangles Stiles’ hold on him and steps back just the barest amount, so they’re no longer touching. But he can still feel his breath on his face.

“Why?” It’s one word, comes out flat and defeated as he sags against the wall.

Derek doesn’t answer and Stiles wouldn’t be sure he was there if not for the body heat he could feel just inches away from him.

Stiles breathes deeply, bringing a hand up, his palm facing skyward and directs the power of his spark into the palm of his hand. It takes a while, the air simply crackling with electricity for a moment, but then his veins start glowing as it collects into a ball, purple light emanating from it, allowing Stiles to see Derek’s face. It was really only fair, Derek could see him perfectly in the dark.

Other than the attractive flush on his face, swollen lips and messy hair, Stiles’ doing, Derek looks concerned but determined. Scott told him once what it looked like when he pulled out his spark in front of him. “It’s creepy, eerie. Like you’re empty inside,” what he knows is what Deaton taught him and that’s that he shouldn’t leave his spark out for too long. That he could die if he does and Derek’s looking at him with all frowns like he knows it too.

But Stiles trusts him around his spark. To communicate like a proper human being, no. To ask for things nicely, still no. But he knows Derek would never do anything to seriously hurt him, well not intentionally.

“I can’t…” Derek finally says, quietly. His eyes on Stiles’ spark, seemingly reluctant to look him in the eye like this.

“So what, you won’t do anything with me but you’ll get in the way of me having any kind of fun?” he asks, frustrated.

“Yes,” Derek growls, finally meeting his gaze. “it’s not safe.”

He stares at him, confused.“I don’t know if you’ve noticed. But lately I am /more/ than capable of protecting myself,” he says, pushing his hand up against his spark so that it floats in the air a little higher. It’s soft and warm when he touches it, and a little buoyant. 

“You didn’t take your bat,” Derek reminds him, his eyebrows drawn close together in concern, his voice pitched unhappy, almost petulant sounding.

“What, I’m supposed to take my bat everywhere with me now?” he scoffs, he has a hard enough time shoving it into his backpack at school. He has no idea how he could sneak it into a place like The Jungle.

“Or me,” Derek answers, “Or Scott or Lydia. You shouldn’t be alone, Stiles.” he adds on quickly, like he realized he said too much.

“So what, this is your way of confessing?” Stiles asks, this isn’t just about his safety no matter how much Derek insists it is. “Should I make it official?”

He brings his arm up with the cast on it, reaching into his hoodie to pull out a sharpie. Derek watches on in confusion.

He’s managed to wrack up Jackson, Lydia and Danny’s signatures. Jackson’s ‘get well loser’ predictable, all lower case his g swooping low and his t capping off high, followed by his initials. From his dad, a long message about how much he loves and cares for his reckless, delinquent son and a reminder to be safe, signed off at the end as ‘Your dad, the Sheriff’

He sends Derek a shit-eating grin and makes sure he’s watching. Feeling childish but still making his point. He’s somewhat ambidextrous, but his left hand is a little clumsy as Derek watches with furrowed eyebrows. ‘SS + DH’

Derek sighs the way he’s specifically reserved for Stiles and shakes his head. Stiles laughs more genuinely this time, his cold indignance replaced by something more humor-based.

There’s a loud bang down the hall, it echos obnoxiously and both he and Derek flinch, turning towards the source of the sound. Whatever caused it is beyond the circle of light Stiles’ spark is casting.

Derek moves to stand in front of him, positioning himself between the source of the sound and Stiles.

“Put it away, Stiles!” Derek tells him. Right. He takes a deep breath and holds out his hand for the ball of warmth to float down towards and settle into. It eases through his skin leaving his veins glowing softly as he reasorbs it. A sort of numbness he hadn’t realized he’d been feeling disappearing the instant it’s settled back into his bones.

“What is it?” Stiles asks, quietly.

There’s an answering shriek to Stiles’ voice, it gurgles a little at the end like there’s blood in it’s throat, or snot, or something even more gross but Stiles doesn’t know what that would be.

“Not good,” Derek says with certainty. 

“You killed it!” a voice shrieks from down the hall and Stiles instantly knows who it is and has no idea how any person could have so much mourning in their voice for that cactus faced mother fucker.

“Where’s your bat?” Derek asks.

“In-” Stiles swallows back a stutter, “In my Jeep,”

Stiles jumps when Derek’s hand clamps down around his, “Run,”

They run down the hall, a horrible screeching noise following them. They reach the door, Derek pushing him in front of him, he crashes into it and it opens beneath his weight. He almost runs smack into Jackson, “Watch it,” he hisses.

“Move!” he tells him, pushing past him into the parking lot.

Cora’s hands catch him, “What the hell is going on?” She demands.

“Right behind us,” he says, out of breath, “the witch. I need my bat,”

Derek comes out an instant later, shooing everyone away from the door and Cora releases him in favor of taking a defensive stance. Then Boyd’s beside him, “I’ll get you to your Jeep,”

The door opens again with a bang that knocks it off its hinges. Then out comes Mrs. Brenner and she looks like a nightmare. Her hair loose and limp around her pale and thin looking face. There’s shadows beneath her eyes which have gone milky white, sightless looking. But he knows she can see him when she stalks towards them, and everyone backs away on instinct. Her steps uneven as she approaches, there’s pink lines criss-crossing her skin and her clothes are charred like she was burnt by something.

It has Stiles thinking about the scorch marks in front of the mirror back in her shop. “You killed it, and now I’ll kill all of you,” she declares. She spins around dramatically, her arms outstretched and black powder coming from her fists. Casting a circle of mountain ash around her, Stiles realizes when Derek and Erica run towards her and bounce away like flies against a window. They growl at her, their faces morphed into their werewolf forms.

“Com’on,” Boyd urges, pulling him away from the scene as Scott and Isaac rush past him towards the witch. It isn’t far and the witch seems pretty preoccupied at the moment. He runs towards it, Boyd a protective presence behind him as he approaches.

He hears low chanting coming from the witch, then the air starts to take a purple hugh. He hears coughing behind him and he looks over his shoulder to see all the werewolves coughing and gasping.

“Keep going,” Boyd chokes out from where he’s fallen on his knees when Stiles tries to stop and help him, his powerful shoulders heaving as he tries to catch his breath. He groans in frustration and turns back towards the lot, then there’s a crash a few yards away from him. Car alarms blaring, overpowering the sounds of his pack gasping for air.

It’s a dumpster, he realizes. She somehow launched a dumpster at him and thankfully her aim wasn’t too great. That wasn’t going to stop him from hurrying though because the car it’d hit didn’t fare very well against it by the looks of it. He runs through a sea of cars, closing in on his Jeep just as he hears something whooshing through the air and Stiles runs faster, ducking his head down and praying to God whatever the hell she threw at him doesn’t land its mark.

There’s a hand on his shoulder and he’s being pushed so hard he stumbles, toppling into a white BMW while there’s another loud crash next to him. More car alarms blaring he looks back to see Boyd has taken the brunt of another dumpster she’d launched at him. “Go!” Boyd yells at him again, half pinned beneath the dented metal.

He gets back to his feet, a little clumsy with the adrenalin and gets to his Jeep, and over the car alarms he can hear her chanting louder this time. He’s certain she’s gonna throw something else at him. Then all he can hear is screaming, just ear splitting screams and he thinks the chanting stops, and the air seems to clear. 

Covering one of his ears he unlocks his Jeep. He gets his hands on his bat. He turns around to face the witch.

Her face is twisted in anguish, her hands covering her ears as she glares at Lydia. Her lips tremble as she bares her teeth in anger.

The wolves are still outside her barrier of mountain ash, watching her avidly, ignoring the sheer volume of Lydia’s scream to the best of their ability. 

“Shut uuup!” she shrieks, her voice twisted and shriveled sounding as her body is. She brings a hand up, her long fingers crooked with arthritis start glowing as energy swirls around them, her attention focused solely on Lydia.

“No!”

Training with Deaton is slow going. Apparently, it isn’t that easy because Sparks are incredibly rare and any information on them is a well-kept secret. But there was one thing Deaton told him;

“The bat isn’t the source of your power. It’s more like a conduit, helps you direct it when all you need is to expel raw power. The bat is magic now, you need to take it with you everywhere.

“Like Thor’s hammer?”

“Sure… like Thor’s hammer.”

The problem with the magic is it’s mostly instinctive. He doesn’t know how it works. He doesn’t know how to explain why he’s suddenly really good at card tricks or why when he needs something small, like a pen, he can summon a purple glitter pen out of thin air.

Which, for some reason, Scott could tell it wasn’t real when he let him borrow it because it “Feels funny,” whatever that means.

If he focuses just right he can kind of defy gravity make his bat stand up straight from the ground on its own. Or he can make some things float. Little things. Or set things on fire.

So he maybe kind of sets the bitch on fire. She screams, the same blood curdling one from earlier in the hallway. Her body quickly becomes engulfed by flames while she tries desperately to get away. Her arms jerking almost mechanically she shouts all sorts of curses at him.

“You terrible- I’ll get you! I’ve marked you- can’t escape- ah!” she yells nonsensically, as she exits the circle of mountain ash. The wolves shy away from her, not wanting to catch fire also. And now she’s a seriously pissed off ball of fire but at least she isn’t trying to murder his friends. She crawls towards him and Stiles readies his bat. Derek is beside him now, they share a look as she gurgles another insult at him. They’re ready to face her off together. The flames seem to be dying down on her, her limbs black and charred, her face stuck in an angry snarl and she starts to stand crookedly. She smells like barbecue.

Derek steps towards her, his shoulders squared as they enter within ten feet of each other.

There’s the squeal of tires and the slam of car doors, Chris and Allison Argent appear beside him, cocking their bows. Derek glances back at them just as Stiles yells to him, “Get down!” Derek drops, arrows whistle past him as they shoot at the witch. They land, one in her head and the other in her heart and she drops with a thud. And it’s over just like that. 

Then there’s the chirp of a cop car and police lights flashing red and blue across the dramatic scene they’ve left post-battle. The witches crumpled body, the crushed cars and dumpsters she’d launched at them all leading to a very difficult to explain situation.

“What the hell is going on here?” the sheriff asks as he steps out of the cruiser to gawk at the mess they’ve left. He sees Scott grimace from where he must have appeared beside him while he was focussing on Derek.

“We should all leave, unless someone wants to pay for the damages,” Chris suggests, everyone nods and starts to disperse while Stiles makes awkward eye contact with his Dad.

“I can explain,”  
—-  
Eventually, he had to cave and told his dad about his spark and all the other shit that’s been happening in Beacon Hills. He didn’t take it well.

“So… I kind of have like- powers now,” he finishes lamely. His Dad just kind of looks at him with that same look he’s been wearing for the past hour. It says, ‘you’re shitting me, I just don’t know why yet.’

“You’re telling me that Scott and Derek Hale are werewolves?” he says finally, his hands on his hips, his shoulders hunched forward and up, and one foot pointed at him. It’s a position Stiles has named his interrogation pose. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

He sighs and brings his left hand up, “Just look,” he says, cutting off his father’s lecture before he can really get started and starts summoning his spark. His veins start glowing faintly as the ball of energy begins collecting in the palm of his hand. His Dad stares at it, slack jawed.

“What the hell is that?” he asks, pointing.

“It’s my spark,” Stiles answers, “I have powers now, since the witch first came after me.”

“You’re really starting to freak me out, son.” his Dad says, staring at the ball of light like he isn’t really hearing what Stiles is saying. Then he looks into Stiles’ empty eyes and looks a little horrified.

“No, look Dad it’s real!” he says, grabbing his Dad’s hand so he can tip his spark into his hand. It floats a couple inches above his skin but he knows his father can feel its warmth. It feels a little invasive, having his Dad hold it, but it’s his Dad and he trusts him explicitly.

“Son,” his father asks, before looking back up at Stiles, “am I holding your soul?”

“Kinda,” he answers lamely.

“Well take it back!” the sheriff says, gently pushing his hand back at Stiles like he’s afraid to drop it, “Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?”

After some convincing his dad conceded. Stiles had been working on energy throwing and his dad was relieved to find out he wasn’t actually losing his mind when he felt like the little rock Stiles had drawn a smiley face on with metallic sharpie may have actually been watching him

“Really, you have no right to be scaring me like that,” he sighs, like Stiles has been slowly taking years off his life with his antics.

“What are you talking about? I’m your son, I have every right!” Stiles answers teasingly.

Later on he catches his Dad pouring over old cases, like maybe his insight into the supernatural world will help him tie up some loose ends.

And that’s not such a bad idea actually. He tells Stiles about a bad car wreck that happened on the full moon, how one little girl’s body was never found. He passes it on to Scott and Derek the next morning at Derek’s loft. After, he shows off a little what he’s learned how to do.

Magic can be unpredictable; he embarrasses himself showing Derek one of his card tricks. He let his mind wander into the gutter a little when presenting Derek with “Is this your card?” and instead of a Queen of Hearts the face read. ‘1 (one) free blowjob.’ in glittery purple font that looked suspiciously like his handwriting.

“Oops, how’d that get in there?” he laughs nervously in Derek’s slightly pink face, before he flips the card over a couple of times and it comes up with the correct card.

“You can keep that,” he says, handing it to Derek who accepts it with the same look on his face all the wolves make when he hands them something made of magic.

Things have been awkward between them ever since Derek’s weird maybe not actually a confession and their battle with the witch at the Jungle. Derek has been carefully avoiding talking about it

“You seem to be picking this up pretty quickly,” Derek observes and Stiles shrugs, feeling a little embarrassed. 

He’s pleasantly surprised when Peter casually places a hand on his shoulder and there’s a loud bang and neon purple light emitting from where Peter had touched him, sending his ass on the floor. He hears Scott’s laughter from across the room

Peter slowly picks himself up looking more than a little frazzled. “That’s right, keep your distance, Zombie Wolf.”

They think there’s a girl stuck in the woods as a werecoyote which Stiles didn’t know could be a thing. But according to Derek it’s not all that unusual and Stiles contemplates just how much he doesn’t know about the supernatural world.

\---  
He’s just finished a phone call with Scott about what their game plan with the coyote girl is when he gets a text from Derek;

‘Look out your window’ Stiles pokes his head out his window to see Derek’s car parked in front of his driveway. Stiles raises his eyebrows inquisitively and Derek just flashes his headlights at him in response.

“We should talk,” Derek rolls down his window to tell him when Stiles comes outside to stand next to his car.

“How do I know you’re the real Derek?” Stiles asks, ducking down to make eye contact with him through the open window.

Derek simply rolls his eyes as Stiles hops into the passenger's seat. “What, last time you said that you turned out to be an angry cactus faced monster so forgive me for being a little cautious.” he rambles as Derek pulls out into the street.

“We’re going to the reserve,”

“Again? I’m pretty sure we established last time that this is a recipe for disaster.” Stiles answers, looking out the window as Derek navigates through the city into less densely populated areas until he’s watching the sunset over tree peaks.

They pull up to roughly the same spot Stiles parked last time they were here. Derek puts the car in park and takes the key out of the ignition, his silence is more broody than usual.

“You seem upset,” Stiles observes, Derek sighs and reaches over to pop Stiles’ seat belt.

“Come with me,” he says simply, before taking off his own seat belt and exiting the car. Against his better judgement Stiles does as he’s told, being sure to grab his bat before he follows Derek’s figure into the woods, a ways away from where he met the thing.

“When I called you, last time, I wanted to tell you I found it,” Derek looks over his shoulder to tell him.

“Found what?” Stiles asks, then runs smack into Derek’s back as he comes to a sudden stop. The smell of Derek’s leather jacket in his nose, he backs up enough to look over Derek’s shoulder at whatever he’s led him to.

“Remember when I stuck my hand in something and I asked you to find out what it was?” Derek asks, and Stiles casts his mind back. Of course he remembers, he’s labeled it as the incident that set off his sexual awakening. Or reawakening. Double awakening? Whatever, he knows he’s bi and he has Derek to thank for that.

Instead of saying all that he comes to stand level with Derek and nods where he knows Derek can see him. The searches he’d made had come up pretty fruitless considering Stiles didn’t really know what it tasted like. He’d sent a text to Derek;

‘What does it taste like to u?’

To which he’d gotten no response, so instead he’d just found a nature article on the edible plants and saps found in their area because he had next to nothing else to go on.

“To be honest, I was starting to think that was just an excuse to get your fingers in my mouth,” he says while he looks at the tree they’ve stopped in front of. It seems just like all the other trees surrounding it, although quite a bit older considering how much wider the trunk was. Then a breeze rustles the branches above, they sway, the low hanging leaves making a soft, muffled sound as a fragrance drifts down from the tree. Something citrusy with a warm, dark base.

“Wow,” he says simply, he doesn’t know when, but the tree has started kind of glowing beneath the moonlight. He finds himself stepping forward, his hand outstretched, his fingers spread wide.

“I found it,” Derek says, sounding the closest approximation of Derek being happy, proud in a way, “it was sap from this tree. I wanted to show you.” he stops just inches away from the tree, he can feel warmth coming off of it.

“That’s really something,” he says quietly, mostly to himself. He closes the distance between him and the caramel colored bark. He expects something to happen when he touches it, maybe something of the way his room had rumbled when he and Derek had finally touched after he saved him. But it’s just him touching a magic tree as the breeze rustles the willow-like leaves.

“You /did/ want me to lick a tree,” he looks over his shoulder at Derek to accuse him.

“You what?” Derek frowns, looking adorably confused.

“I was right,” Stiles says, pulling away from the tree to start walking back towards Derek, “when you called me, that was the first thing I said to that thing when I saw it.”

Derek barks out a laugh and puts a hand over his mouth to stifle his laughter while Stiles stares wide eyed. “What?” Derek asks him when he notices.

“Derek, I don’t mean to frighten you, but I think you’re laughing.” he says, in a put-on alarmed voice.

“I laugh sometimes,” Derek frowns, his eyebrows furrowing together in scrutiny.

“Not really! Only when you’re mocking me,” Stiles says, unable to hold back a laugh of his own at Derek’s terribly offended face.

Derek shakes his head, pushing on Stiles’ shoulder until him stumbles in the direction he wants him going, “Com’on, let’s get back to the car,”

“You’re real pushy, you know that?” Stiles throws back at him, making his way towards where he thinks they parked. Derek reaches up to redirect him by his shoulders in the right direction.

“Yeah well, you drive me crazy,” Derek says as they exit the trees. It’s quiet for a few moments as Stiles walks towards the Camaro. He stops and turns around just as Derek starts closing in on him. They just look at one another then, letting silence fill the space between them.

“Feeling’s mutual,” Stiles finally says, far too much warmth in his voice for his liking.

For Stiles, understanding Derek has always been a little difficult, especially at the beginning when all he used to do was scare him. But now, he thinks, he’s really starting to truly see him. And right now he sees someone who’s just barely beginning to forgive himself. But maybe he still needs to learn that he also deserves happiness.

He feels himself gravitating closer to him and Derek doesn’t move away, just watches him as he approaches. He looks into those eyes as he moves in closer, Derek’s chin tilting to stay level with him and asks,“Has anyone ever told you, you have really pretty eyes?”

Derek’s eyebrows pull together, looking conflicted as the space between them shrinks, they share the same breath before Derek pulls away last second. The hand Stiles had placed on Derek’s shoulder without his noticing falls through the air with a disappointed drop.

Stiles sags against the hood of the Camaro that he somehow winded up being backed up against and stares at the ground by Derek’s feet, licks his lips while he tries to stop the feeling of rejection from overwhelming him. “Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’ve been-” Derek speaks up, but he can hear him trying to close off his emotions, “trying to give you space,”

“You’ve been avoiding me.” Stiles answers for him, flat out. He looks up at Derek who seems to be having trouble meeting his gaze. Now all Stiles feels is angry. “But instead of just rejecting me like a normal person you- you keep coming back and confusing me. I mean what the hell am I supposed to /think/-”

“Stiles, this isn’t just about sex,” Derek interrupts, voice hard, finally looking at him to drive the point home.

“Then /tell me/!” he demands, his hands gesturing wildly to get his frustration across.

“You’re too young.” Derek says, stepping back towards him again. And he grabs him by the collar of his shirt to haul him off the hood of his car. The close proximity sets Stiles’ world on edge. The air between them charged and Stiles has to swallow at how dry his mouth has become.

“No, I’m not.” he weakly tries to convince him instead of addressing the legitimate argument,“And I don’t know if you’ve noticed yet, Derek. But I actually care about you. Like /really/ care about you,” he says, sounding stupidly earnest.

It was more than the way friends cared about one-another, it was different than the way he loved and cared about Scott, or his Dad. It wasn’t the same way he felt about the rest of the pack, protective with a side of devotion. This was- this could be love, if he let it. “I don’t just want sex.” he says instead.

Derek looks like he’s being drawn in against his will. But all the same he’s coming in, he doesn’t kiss Stiles though. He ducks his head into the crook of his neck like he did before, in that hallway. He takes deep breaths, like he can’t get enough of his scent. Like he can’t get enough of Stiles.

“I want you- in more ways than one.” he whispers the confession against Derek’s skin, and Derek shakes against him, like he’s having trouble restraining himself.

Stiles slides back till he’s sitting on the hood again and Derek follows like he can’t help it, slipping between Stiles’ thighs like they’re magnetized. 

Stiles reaches out to touch him, his fingers drifting into Derek’s soft, thick hair. He pulls and Derek goes easily, his mouth sliding against Stiles’. And it’s perfect, even with Derek’s scruff scratching his sensitive skin. They kiss earnestly, Stiles clinging for all he’s worth and it may have started out soft but it quickly evolves into something much more heated.

And yeah, this is about more than just sex, but it’s definetly apart of it. Right now as he arches against Derek’s very solid body, all he can think of is getting beard-burn in /other/ places. Like on his chest or hips or between his thighs for instance.

He lets his body tilt back and Derek’s climbing over him, holding Stiles down against the hood of his car. Tongues sliding together and teeth nipping at lips, Stiles feels a hardness against him that has him thinking maybe, hopefully they’re going to have amazing, mind blowing sex on top of Derek’s Camaro! Hell yeah!

Derek pulls back, just barely and Stiles is thankful because otherwise he’d think Derek was trying to leave again. Their eyes meet, Derek looks at him dark with want and a need Stiles can emphasize with. Then Derek’s ducking down, nosing over his neck and down his chest, his powerful hands pushing Stiles’ shirt up and his hot mouth is on his skin, leaving gentle, reverent kisses that have Stiles squirming impatiently.

Then Derek bites him on the hip with dull, human teeth, not breaking skin. But it still hurts and Stiles arches into it, a soft whine falling out of his mouth unbidden. “Fuck!” he gasps when Derek does it again, then he feels Derek starting to drift south.

“Yes yes yes yes,” Stiles, bables urging Derek downward and Derek trembles over him like he’s still having second thoughts about this. Derek’s hot mouth hesitating over his pant line. God, he is so hard for this, Derek, please!

“Stiles,” Derek growls in answer and Stiles realizes that he may have said some of that out-loud. Then Derek’s hand is at his zipper and Stiles tugs at him impatiently and Derek just goes. 

Stiles gasps as Derek’s mouth lands open mouthed, needy and his teeth a little too sharp over his cock on the outside of his jeans. And fuck, he’s cumming, with no warning as he moans helplessly, his cock jerking and twitching as he pumps cum on the inside of his jeans. And maybe he should be embarrassed but he just shakes and arches and cums maybe harder than he ever has in his entire life.

When he opens his eyes again Stiles can’t be entirely sure what planet he’s on while he tingles all over pleasantly. And Derek’s hunched over between his legs, breathing him in like he’s just seconds away from cumming himself. And isn’t that just the biggest fucking ego boost. Jesus Christ he didn’t even get his pants off.

Then he realizes with a start the flashing lights he’d been seeing while orgasm swept him away were real and there was a police cruiser pulling up to them and chirping noisily. 

“Holy shit, Derek!” He jerks out of his post orgasm laziness and tugs at Derek’s hair until he gets with the program and stands up, pulling Stiles up with him and putting himself between Stiles and the police car.

“Hi Dad,” Stiles greets sheepishly as his Dad exits the car, shot gun trained on Derek.

“Now I know these bullets don’t have wolfsbane in them but I bet it still hurts like hell,” he tells Derek, sounding deadly serious. And Stiles is kind of draped against Derek’s back, still, his body craving the close contact after such an intense orgasm. Even still, this was pretty serious, so Stiles unclenched his fingers from where they were curled around the front of Derek’s shirt and prys himself away. And says, with all the innocence he can muster;

“Nothing happened,” his Dad looks like he’s insulted Stiles is even trying to play this off when the evidence so clearly points towards the contrary. And Derek turns to look at him looking seriously hurt.

Stiles widens his eyes and brings his hands up as if to say, ‘Do you want to get arrested??’ Derek turns back to look at his Dad.

“Yes it did,” sounding so serious it was it was funny.

Even more hilarious is seeing Derek in handcuffs, his shirt stretched nicely around his chest and biceps and sitting in the back seat of his dad's police cruiser. The outline of an impressive erection straining against the front of his jeans. His face all tortured angst with the burn of a thousand suns. Maybe hilarious wasn’t the right word. Maybe he meant sexy as hell. Denial looks good on him.

“Don’t look so upset,” Stiles tells him through the wiring,“if you keep doing that with your eyebrows you’ll get wrinkles.”

Derek growls before saying; “Easy for you to say at least you got off,” which was fair. Derek undoubtedly could smell Stiles’ sticky cum splattered on the inside his boxers, hell /he/ could even smell it. They had to crack the windows in the car just to air it out. Which is awkward considering this was his Dad’s police car. But if he had to look at Derek like this much longer he’d be suffering right alongside Derek soon enough.

His dad snaps his fingers getting his attention, “You and I are going to have a talk later.”

He turns his eyes on Derek, “Same goes for you, I need to know you know how to treat my son,”

The talks are, well, painful. Agonizing really. That’s a good word for it. But they make it through it and his Dad has Derek’s solemn swear that he will never do anything to hurt Stiles. And he says it with so much earnestness it actually makes his heart ache a little.

He’s sure Derek and his Dad will be getting along soon enough.  
—-

He gets his cast off and to celebrate Derek makes good on the card Stiles had given him.

He teases a little, at first. Mostly because he’s stalling and he isn’t really sure what to do. He falls to his knees, ungracefully albeit and slides his hands against Derek’s denim-clad thighs. Derek cups a gentle hand against his jaw, soothes his thumb against his lips until they part. He dips his thumb into his mouth and Stiles sucks on it, looking up into his eyes bambie-sweet.

He’s clumsy at it but considering it’s his first blow job he’d say he’s doing pretty good. The way Derek actually moans for him, fucking moans, and tugs at his hair like he can’t help it when Stiles goes a little too far and chokes himself on Derek’s cock tells him that.

“Sorry- fuck, Stiles,” Derek says, sounding strained. So he does it, again and again until Derek’s gasping out a warning and trying to push him away. But Stiles sticks with it, clings to Derek’s pant leg until Derek swears again, hot cum spirting against his tongue, filling his mouth until he chokes and has to pull away, the last of it hitting him in the face.

He sags as Derek releases him but then Derek’s pulling him up by his armpits and pushing him against the wall. He reaches down and palms Stiles’ cock through his jeans, and Stiles arches and gasps out; “I swear to God if you make me cum in my pants again I’m gonna make you regret it,” 

Derek laughs and rubs him harder while Stiles swears at him. Then Derek finally gets with the program and gets his pants open and tugs them down in two quick jerks that do, woah, awesome things for his dick. All manly and strong and reaches down his boxers to put a hand around his dick and wow that’s a hand. On his dick. A hand that isn’t his, doing something incredible, incredibly awesome and making his hips stutter into Derek’s hand.

“Holy f-” he’s saying, arching back so hard his head smacks into the wall behind him. Derek makes a mildly concerned noise and pulls him in for a kiss as he keeps working him over. And Stiles clings onto him desperately as he approaches his orgasm, “Oh my fucking God,” he says as Derek squeezes him tighter until that’s it. He moans into Derek’s mouth, his orgasm wracking through him.

“Nice,” he says when it’s over, his tongue loose and his head lolling against the wall behind him. Derek huffs another breath of laughter and pushes Stiles’ hair away from his sweaty forehead.

“You get kind of douchey post-orgasm, don’t you?” Derek asks.

“You’re one to talk, you should never laugh at a man when your hands on his dick.” Derek laughs again, nudging into the side of Stiles' face, laying a gentle kiss against his temple.

“Quiet,” is all he says.

“Or what?” Stiles asks, leaning in for a quick kiss.

Derek tugs him back by his hair, “Or I’ll spank you,”

Stiles laughs his ears going a little hot at the suggestion. “You don’t scare me, big guy,”


End file.
